Running Blind
by happycookiie
Summary: A girl, a bullet, and a briefcase that could change the world. Anything is possible if a person has enough blind faith. But Beth Greene never believed in destiny, or fate, and especially not invincibility . . . until she survived a bullet to the head. "Life always makes it through."
1. Prologue

**Author's Corner**

" _Running Blind_ is an action/survival work of fiction set after Coda, following the travels of Beth Greene and a group of Crawford survivors as they venture through the U.S. Eastern coastal states during the aftermath of a zombie apocalypse to find her missing family."

Okay so after what happened with Beth in the mid season finale of season five, my bones were thoroughly rattled and I was very annoyed (weren't we all?), which inspired me to start writing this monster. The Walking Dead kills a lot of characters before what I think was their time, so I suppose this is me trying to fix that.

If you don't like the idea of Beth possibly surviving that gunshot, which is cool if you don't, I'm not going to force the idea on you, then you probably shouldn't read this. You can if you want, by all means, because after all fanfiction is just a way of exploring and altering the canon storyline of an already existing story. So if you wanna come along on this journey exploring what I think could have happened after that mid season finale, hop on board! (why did I write that that is the most uncool thing I have ever written)

Questions/thoughts/general discussion is welcome on here or my tumblr ( _bethsmaggiedottumblrdotcom_ ), and without further ado... let's begin the journey.

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own TWD or any of its characters.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Hazy.

That was the best word to describe Beth Greene's mind in that precise moment. A fine, misty haze that had settled over her consciousness and clouded her mind. Her lids felt heavy over her eyes as she struggled to open them.

They opened to darkness, a confined space, and the heavy scent of copper coating the humid air. Her head throbbed, and her cracked lips parted to suck in a sharp intake of the thin air in her confinement. As her vision slowly cleared, she realised that she was in what appeared to be the trunk of some vehicle, the memory of hiding in one during a storm resurfacing through the haze. More memories began to re-emerge with that. Images of scissors, and the blistering sound of a gun being fired.

Beth dragged her disoriented gaze down to her hands in the darkness, which were dampened by a sticky liquid, much like much of her body was She couldn't breathe. She felt trapped, imprisoned and _alone_. Her mind instantly went to the others, to her family. Where were they? In fact . . . where was _she_?

Digging deeper into the fuzz of memories, she remembered the hospital, the exchange, Dawn and Noah, and the short moment when she thrust those tiny scissors into the woman's shoulder before everything went black.

She was dead.

That's what had happened.

She'd _died_.

But if that was the case, then what was she doing here?

Beth had always believed in God and the promised utopia of Heaven, but waking up alone in the pitch black of a car wasn't exactly the image she'd had in mind upon each of her weekly visits to church.

Perhaps this was Hell? The coffin in the Underworld in which she was forever doomed to lay, and atone for her many sins. She wouldn't be surprised if that _was_ where she'd ended up, to be honest, considering all the things she'd done to survive. All the lies. All the _kills_. But that aside, something told her that she was _not_ dead, but very much _alive_ _. . ._

Very much alive indeed.

A pain in her head blossomed like a rose as she attempted to move. A piercing sting, penetrating her skull and sending burning fire through her brain. Her body moved painfully slowly, her joints sore and heavy, and she shifted her foot around to try and somehow force the trunk open.

To crawl out of the darkness and into the light.

The sunlight was harsh as her foot collided with the part that opened the mechanism, and the door rose skyward and opened to allow blinding streams of light into the former shadowy space.

She blinked slowly, her vision ever so slowly adjusting to the intensity of the bright light, and lay there, tucked neatly in the trunk as if it were a casket. Her hair tie had fallen out so her dirty hair laid fanned out all around her, grimy blonde locks laced thick with lines of deep _red_.

The dampness she could feel was blood.

Her _own_ blood.

It pooled around her, leaking down her forehead and cheeks and into her hair, then all over her body. The bandaged cast on her right wrist was practically soaked in the crimson, as was the rest of that arm, and the grubby grey cardigan she wore was coated with a dry brown layer of it.

She pulled herself up and toppled out of the car trunk, landing back-first on the hard gravel of the floor with a choked yelp. White vision; head throbbing loudly; and silence other than a shrill siren sounding in one ear, slowly being overpowered by the nearby sounds of groaning . . . and _snarling_.

The white curtain covering her vision slowly parted and her mouth opened to gasp, only no sound came out due to her throat being so parched.

Walkers _._

Walkers _everywhere_.

If not for the dryness of her throat, Beth would have screamed. Instead, she rolled her head back onto the hard gravel and waited. Waited to be devoured. Waited for the decaying teeth of monsters to sink into her flesh and rip her apart, the same way they'd taken Jimmy and Patricia . . .

 _It was ironic,_ she thought, that after miraculously surviving something as impossible as a bullet to the head, _this_ would be the way she went.

She accepted that fate and waited . . . Waited for the end.

It was when nothing happened that she opened her eyes once again, the pain in her head growing almost unbearable. The bullet wound seemed to have swelled massively to stop the bleeding, but from the pain she was feeling, she guessed it wouldn't be long before it re-opened again.

She watched the walkers passing her by, seemingly oblivious to the easy meal laying as good as dead mere feet in front of them. _Why didn't they attack?_ she wondered, but then it dawned on her . . .

They must _already_ see her as dead.

She _was_ as good as dead really, and everyone knew that the dead didn't eat their own kind. So maybe . . . just maybe . . . She could work this to her advantage.

Shedding the itchy grey cardigan and peeling it down her bloodied form, it dropping to the ground to reveal the stained yellow polo beneath, she tried to stand. Her legs were wobbly after not being used for so long, and she toppled over multiple times initially. Still, the walkers failed to notice.

 _They must be used to this_ , she thought. They toppled over themselves all the time with their weak and decaying ligaments.

She used the car she'd climbed out of to pull herself up again and steadied herself against its hot steel body, poisoned with heat by the sun, thus burning her palms. This kind of pain felt good. It reminded her she was alive. Alive and _fighting_. But her heart sank into pain and misery along with the wound in her head as she looked out into the vast abyss of walkers that stretched out through the streets of the city.

 _Atlanta_. She was still in Atlanta, and judging by the surrounding buildings . . . Grady couldn't be far. In fact, she was almost certain that she could see the spire of its roof sticking up through the forest of skyscrapers. And though the last thing Beth wanted to do was go back to that awful place, she was no fool.

It was a miracle she was still alive right now, and she knew that without help . . . she would certainly die.

She couldn't do this alone. She _needed_ help. And if that help had to be from the very woman who'd almost killed her and the doctor who'd betrayed her to save his own life, then so be it.

Her head hurt more when she thought too much, so she practiced standing upright without the support of the car, and slowly wobbled out into the sea of the undead in what was hopefully the direction of Grady. Covered in old sticky blood, she wasn't even sure that she was going the right way. This was probably a lost cause, but still, she had to try. Because if you gave up in this world, there would be no one left alive.

 _Dawn_ hadn't given up. Sure, she'd fought on in the wrong way, but she'd still fought to make it. To _survive_. And right now, Beth vowed to fight until she quite simply couldn't go on. She vowed to fight forever, because she'd rather go down fighting to live, than surrender to pain and give herself over to death. The acceptance of her own death she'd felt a few seconds ago had only lasted that—a few seconds.

Now, she would defy that providence.

Dirtied blonde locks spilled down into her face and over her shoulders. The bullet wound had re-opened as she'd predicted and gradually spilling out more blood, increasing the chances of her bleeding out. But she still just wouldn't give up. She wouldn't be beaten by this. _Couldn't_. Because she had another _chance_ , and that was a real rarity in the world now.

She'd be damned if she was going to waste that rare chance she'd been bestowed with.

Every now and then she would bump into walkers, who snarled at her and then merely carried on their way like they didn't even sense her still beating heart. She supposed she was as close to the walking dead a person could get, but she _still_ went on.

Because this was her last chance.

Her last chance to prove that she was a fighter.

Just as her body was about to give out and shut down for good, the Grady building _finally_ came into view up ahead, the huge medical cross and bold lettering on the side of the building quivering in her blurred vision. She stumbled into the parking lot with a deranged smile on her cracked lips and fell against an angry red fire truck that was parked there, before trudging on towards the building.

She wasn't sure exactly what had gone down after she'd naïvely stabbed Dawn with those scissors, but she hoped to God that there'd still be people in the hospital. There was no telling how Rick and the others would have reacted after seeing her shot like that in front of them. It would be a miracle if any were left alive in that place because if there weren't, she really _was_ as good as dead.

But then, like magic, _a man_ came out onto the roof of the hospital building. A man that shivered and distorted with her deteriorating vision, doubling with hallucinations, and clad in a pristine white lab coat. Too pure and perfect to belong to this world, more like it belonged in a dream.

Her hopeless smile widened at the sight of the man, blood trickling down into her mouth and leaving the warm taste of copper on her tongue. She reached out to him, cast and arm coated in dark red, and mouthed just two words with her barren lips.

 _Help me._

Then she fell to the hard ground for the final time, and saw several pairs of feet running towards her before everything went fully dark.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

This is just a short prologue to get the story going. Future chapters will be longer, I promise., and coming _soon_ as well! For I have all summer to write! Favourite/Follow for updates and don't forget to review with your thoughts. I'd appreciate all your support if you like this story and I shall try my best to make it a good one! Also check out my other stories if you want~


	2. Replay

**Author's Corner**

First chapter. Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:** Characters obviously don't belong to me because I wouldn't have killed Beth off in such a shitty way~

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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.

Broken conversations spilled all around, coating the air with an irritant ambiguity as the cut-short words swirled throughout the vicinity, reaching Beth's ears in tattered syllables that stretched and stretched outward into the vast nothing . . .

Sharp jolts of pain shook her immobile form as she lay, on what she thought to be some kind of table or bed. Her skin was crawling; tiny pinpricks nipping at several places over her body and sending currents of blood flow and some _strange liquid_ around her system.

Beth could hear the faint blipping of a machine. Short, fast beeps of a heart monitor, observing her racing pulse.

 _Beep_ _. . . !_ _Beep_ _. . . !_

Counting the steady thrums it made from deep within her chest as proof that she still breathed. And the fact that she was still breathing was a miracle in itself, an _impossible_ one, but then again . . . that was what made a miracle, a miracle.

Her lashes fluttered on her cheeks as she slowly opened her eyes to put pictures to the sounds she heard.

Pale, artificial lights shone down from the ceiling; a false light shining down on a child of the Lord. She wondered if the Lord still viewed the human race as his children, or if he'd abandoned them and this was his way of eliminating the problem . . . Or was he ever really there to begin with?

Beth shifted her vision from the lights and moved her gaze around the room. It was a large room, spacious and open, unlike the last time she has awoken in this death-trap of a hospital, surrounded by notices and posters reading: _Get well soon._

What a joke.

With clocks ticking endlessly, marking the passing seconds and reminding her of the ground-hog hours she was forced to endure every day. Each passing day the hope in her heart slowly fading and being replaced with something akin to a rage of kinds.

A _tired_ rage. An: _I don't want to do this anymore and I'm not dealing with this_ kind of rage.

 _I'm not gonna leave you!_

 _Go out across the road, I'll meet you there!_

She couldn't wait forever.

After careful examination of the room, Beth found that she was laid upon a long kind of tray of a bed, clothed in a flimsy piece of blue surgical fabric that was held together by pitiful iron crocodile clips. And there were rubber _tubes_ fastened into her skin, feeding a strange burning liquid into her system that she could feel flowing within her veins . . . Running with the blood.

Panic began to rise in her chest at the sight and sensations, setting the heart monitor off into fast-paced, unsteady blips. It was when the machine went into a frenzy in sync with her rapid heartbeat, that Beth's vision focused on an approaching figure . . .

". . . D . . . _Dawn!_? . . ." she choked in disbelief, throat dry and sore as if it hadn't been used in weeks.

Almost as quickly as it had formed, the image of the over-bearing female officer melted away into the form of another. Another whom was equally cowardly.

He spoke with a tiny smile on his lips, as if he'd done nothing wrong, or he simply didn't believe he'd done anything wrong in the first place.

He was foolish too.

"No . . . Dr. Steven Edwards." he corrected, "Surely you remember me, right . . . _Beth_?"

Beth felt sick to her stomach.

Did she remember him? Hell, how could she _forget_? He was the first person at Grady to show her any form of kindness and general human decency. She'd befriended him, _trusted_ him . . . And he'd gone and used her just to save his own sorry skin.

Because that's how things worked at Grady. People used other people to get what they wanted. They manipulated you into doing their dirty work; into _killing_ their enemies. Like Dawn had done with Beth with what went down with Officer O'Donnell.

Beth wouldn't fall for the same act again. Not this time.

She may owe them for saving her life _again,_ but never again would she play as a pawn and fall prey to their little game of chess.

Her fingers curled around one of the thick tubes snaking into her forearm, and yanked it out harshly, to the startled Edwards's dismay. He blurted something science-sounding in a frenzy of panic as the blue liquid from the rubber wire leaked all into the floor, and Beth's arm was left with a puncture hole from the bizarre appliance.

" _Beth_!" he cried, reaching to shove the wire back into place with a gloved hand . . . but she would have no such thing.

She thrashed in her resting position and pushed him away by his chest, sending the heart monitor off the scale with intense beeping.

"No . . . Please . . . _NO_!"

The wards in the room sunk down into themselves as she continued to thrash around against their doctor, and before Beth knew it, there were Grady cops running in to stop the trouble. Shirts black as night, pitch black to emphasize the lack of freedom. Guns held up, pointing at her.

And as for their faces? Beth didn't know. For all she saw on each of them were Gorman and O'Donnell's faces. Taunting her, mocking her . . . _Desiring_ her.

It was all too much, with the added throbbing that had started again in her head.

Wounds were being reopened—both physical _and_ emotional.

Several cops assisted Edwards in restraining her, which gave the doctor an opening to withdraw a glass syringe from the side table and inject it roughly into the side of her neck. Her wild flailing ceased instantly, and her body sagged against the bed, slowly shutting down limb by limb.

Feeling escaped her body, flying away from her like it had been held captive, and leaving her empty and numb.

Her eyes darted to Edwards before they slid closed again, and caught the sorrow in his eyes and the quiet mouthing of his lips.

 _I'm sorry._

She glared before falling into unconsciousness.

.

.

Beth wasn't sure how long she'd been out this time, but she knew it had been long enough for the parasites that were nightmares to latch onto her mind and pull her subconscious down into a twisted realm of despair.

A cruel smile tugged at her lips. She remembered that she had hated nightmares, had once laid awake night after night at the farm, thinking about the horrors she'd seen unleashed from the barn after Shane had burst open its doors. Her mama had always told her that the monsters under the bed were just myths, and Beth had believed her . . . Until she'd seen the monsters take her mama for how wrong she'd been, and Beth had just thought: _What was the point?_ and dragged the dull edge of a broken mirror piece along the inside of her wrist.

Just to be able to feel _something_ , in the numbness left behind by her mother.

Nightmares were funny. They shook your unconscious mind to the brink of sheer terror, filling you with fear . . . And then you woke up.

It was that that brought a punishing smile to Beth's lips, that despite how bad the world was now, despite the horrors she saw every day that could drive you to slit your wrists from mental agony . . . She still felt _relief_ from waking from a nightmare, even if it was waking into a world like this one.

There was still something worth waking up to, and that was good enough for her right now, so she smiled because of the irony.

"Think of something funny?"

Any trace of a smile that had been visible vanished, and Beth's eyes flew open in alarm at the voice beside her.

She was in the same room, stretched out upon the same tray-like bed, with the same heart machine stationed beside her. The room was much emptier, however, she noticed from looking around, the area seemingly lacking the cluster of wards and officers it had been filled with before.

Now only _one_ occupied the same space as her, yet the identity of that one person quelled no discomfort in her at all.

Edwards smiled down at her from his perch on a chair by the bed, his hands fiddling with a pen and lacking the daunting surgical gloves he wore before. That helped ease some of her panic, with the possibility that he wasn't going to operate on her right now in mind. The tubes were still wired into her body though, feeding that odd substance into her veins, and that exactly didn't bode well with her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

She tilted her head to rest on her cheek so that she was facing in his direction as she flashed him a cautious scowl.

". . . I'm . . . _fine_." she answered stoically, eyes dark and voice monotone.

Her gaze drifted across her body, picking out the newly wrapped cast on her fractured wrist and the strip of bandage she felt wound around her head. The knot was tight and the throbbing tore through her temples with every breath

"This is your doing, I presume?" she asked, gesturing to the bandages.

"Yeah. I patched you up real good, if I do say so myself."

His grin was jaw-breaking as he stuffed his hands into his pockets to sit back and regard her.

"But most of your recovery just stems from the fact that you're really, _really_ lucky. I mean . . . just wow. You healed _magnificently_! First a car accident and now this. You're our best subject yet."

Beth's eyes flickered.

" _Subject_?"

He seemed to notice some kind of error he'd made, and his expression changed to one of worry almost instantly.

"No, I mean—Oh, well what I meant was . . . Well, I meant to say _patient_ , but since we've been workin' on something too I kinda get the terms mixed up sometimes."

". . . What _kind_ of somethin'?"

"Oh, you know. Just stuff . . ." he mumbled, suddenly interested in his hands as he played with them on his lap.

He would've reminded her of Rick if he'd added _things_ after the _stuff_ , and her chest ached as she realised how much she missed that man who'd saved her and her family's lives.

Beth was tired, her head hurt, and her body was wired up to some kind of outlandish machine. Frankly, she wasn't in the mood for this crap, so she decided to cut to the chase.

"Well whatever, that's fine. It's not what I wanna ask you anyway. You see . . . I wanna know what happened after I went an' got myself shot. Where's Dawn . . . ? And my _friends_?"

His face seemed to fall even more, if that was even possible, at her questions, and he went silent for a minute.

"Dawn . . . Dawn is dead," he whispered, almost as if he were afraid Dawn would hear if he spoke too loudly. Afraid that she'd come bursting in to scream at him for wasting resources on Beth and words explaining her fate, as if that was a possibility anymore.

Beth's eyes widened and she sat up slightly, maneuvering around the mass array of tubes sharing the space on the bed with her.

" _Dead_?" she cried in confusion, "How . . . ? What happened? _Tell_ me."

Her eyes were fierce and focused, not an expression Edwards had seen her wear before. Aside from the fire in her eyes when she'd stabbed Dawn in the neck.

His mouth twitched and he glanced at her from beneath his glinting square glasses, which he readjusted before lacing his hands together on his lap.

"After . . . After you stabbed her in the neck," he started, "And got _shot_ _. . ._ One of the men from your group pulled out his gun and shot her bang in the middle of the head. Big, tough looking guy with a crossbow. Kinda scruffy looking, what you'd call _feral_ actually. But I guess that's what to be expected from outsiders."

 _Daryl,_ her mind instantly screamed.

Daryl had _killed_ Dawn. He'd killed Dawn because of _her_.

Beth instantly felt faint.

Dawn's life was on her, even though Daryl had been the one to pull the trigger. It was still her fault. He probably hadn't thought twice about killing her though, after what he'd seen.

Her chest ached for him, for the others, and for anyone who had been there to witness her stupidity. Because that's what she was . . . stupid. And she couldn't guess for the life of her how Daryl Dixon had managed to overlook that painful stupidity of hers and manage to see something.

How he'd looked at her in candlelight as if she was something vast . . . _wondrous_ _. . ._ Something _worth_ looking at. And maybe something even more than that.

 _I'll be gone someday._

Gone.

The truth behind her words to him from many moons ago came crashing back, and the harsh sting settled in.

She'd said that to him, knowing full well it was true, but not thinking of it actually _coming_ true. She'd known her fate, but that didn't mean she'd been ready to accept it. And judging by his reaction when she'd said it . . .

 _Don't._

And how he'd finished Dawn in blind fury . . . Neither had he.

Neither had any of them.

"After that," Edwards continued, "Your group and our officers all had their guns out, was planning a massive shoot-out. But Officer Shepherd, one of the cops that came in earlier, she stopped 'em. Then your group offered to take us with them, to leave this place, this sanctuary . . . Naturally, none of us took it—"

"You chose to stay _here_?" Beth interrupted in horror, "After they offered you a place as a part of their group, as _one of them_ _. . ._ You turned that down? Chose to stay here in this . . . in this _purgatory_?"

" _Purgatory_?" he snorted, "Bit of a stretch, don't ya think? This place may have its flaws, but at the end of the day, it's away from the roamers, away from bad people. It's _safe_."

She shook her head slowly.

"No . . . This place is the farthest away from safe that you can get. It's places like this that make you weak. They grind you down, makin' you feel all safe and protected . . . But when that's taken away from you, which is what will and always does happen, you'll see just how _weak_ you really are, how much you depend on others for survival. How it's survival of the fittest out there, and you realise how much you don't _fit_ into that category. You can't live like that . . . Not anymore. You have to put it away. Or it _kills_ you . . . Like it did Dawn, and the man that ran this place before her."

". . . You sound like you know what you're talking about," he said quietly.

Images of the farm and the prison flashed in her mind, cracked and broken pieces of memory swimming around in her head. Tainted memories of good things that had been lost. That were long gone.

But those were just memories, memories that served no good dwelling upon or getting sad over. Memories of once happy times with smiling faces and warm laughter as groups sat around a fire, singing freely.

Free . . . Alive . . . _Happy_.

Beth swallowed those memories and met his gaze fiercely, a new fire having been stoked and burning in her.

"Tell me more about what happened."

"Well, we offered to take care of your body . . ."

Beth winced as she recalled just what 'taking care of' meant in Grady when it came to the deceased.

Bodies rotting at the bottom of an elevator shaft. So many _bodies_. Food for the roamers.

"But your group wouldn't have it. They wanted to take you with them. I was sure crossbow guy was gonna pull the same thing he'd done to Dawn with me 'cause of the way he was glaring at me when I went near you. So they made their leave, crossbow guy carrying you down the flights of stairs with the others. Out towards _nothing_."

The irony behind her predictions felt tight in Beth's chest as she recalled every word she'd said about her not being able to last.

Such unfair irony, as the world touched and tainted her, the one thing Daryl Dixon had believed was good; invincible; _untouchable_.

 _Touched_ , by death.

"Next thing that happens, a red fire truck drives into the parking lot and parks up. Then out gets this handful of people who I assumed knew you from their reactions when your group walked out of the building, your dead body in bowman's arms. I watched from the roof as a woman just _fell_ at the sight of you and screamed . . . She looked so small for a grown woman then. So broken. And this Asian guy came up behind her and held her as she cried. I felt so _helpless_ in that moment."

" _Maggie_. . ." Beth whispered aloud this time, "My sister."

She tried not to imagine the look on Maggie's face as she saw her baby sister come out of that hospital in the arms of Daryl, tattered body sagging like a broken doll in his hold. The only family she had left.

 _You ain't never gonna see Maggie again!_

"Then what?"

Edwards rubbed the back of his head and readjusted his glasses again.

". . . They left. With you. That's the last I saw of them. And _you_ , before you came staggering back, covered in blood and dirt."

He met her gaze then, eyes pained and the lines on his forehead tight.

"I don't know what happened to them. I'm sorry, Beth."

Beth's head tipped down and she laid it back down on the bed, staring up at the painfully white ceiling.

She'd been hoping for answers, but Edwards's story provided her with hardly any at all. It didn't explain why she'd ended up in the trunk of a car on the streets of Atlanta, alone and surrounded by walkers. Why she'd been _left behind_.

It didn't make sense.

She tried to believe that they wouldn't just leave her, that they wouldn't just give up on her. But after how they'd seemingly given up on her after the fall of the prison and assumed her dead, she wasn't so sure anymore.

But something was definitely missing. A missing piece of the puzzle.

Something wasn't adding up, and Beth vowed to find out exactly what.

A flurry of alarmed shrieks and other various panicked noises from outside the room drew Edwards's and Beth's attention away from the subject matter. Whilst Beth's reaction was confused and rather distraught, as depicted by the increasing _beep!_ s from the heart monitor, Edwards's reaction was much more severe.

He mumbled something under his breath before darting out, pristine lab-coat billowing behind him like the cape of a superhero, though he possessed no such courage of one.

Beth moved her arms carefully, pulling out the tubes that were wired into her in several places, leaving faint puncture wounds all over her body. She sat up and yanked them out of her legs too, and awkwardly fumbled as she tried to pull the tube out that was fastened into her cast. Pulling the final and thickest rubber wire out of the back of her neck with a hiss of pain, she swung her legs over the bed and planted her bare feet onto the cold floor.

The cold was good. It meant she still felt.

Meant she was still alive.

Spotting a pair of medical scissors on the table beside the heart machine, she picked them up and hesitantly slid them into her cast.

 _Déjà vu_ , she thought.

Hopefully, she'd remember to use them wisely this time, and preferably away from someone with a loaded gun.

She rose from the table-bed and steadied herself, legs ridiculously weak from lack of usage. The door was unlocked surprisingly, Edwards apparently having been in such a hurry that he'd forgotten to lock it, and opened rather easily. She hobbled out of the awful room and made her way down one of the corridors, towards the screaming and panic.

Her hair spilled down her back and shoulders, falling into her face, so she tucked it back behind her ears and limped on.

Grady looked _untouched_ , almost as if none of the horrors she'd witnessed had happened.

Joan . . . Gorman . . . O'Donnell . . . Even Dawn and herself.

If someone was looking for evidence that any of that had ever happened, they would find nothing.

She staggered on towards the sounds of people but stopped when a window at the end of the corridor came to view, light seeping in and stretching along the floor like a warm river. But there was nothing warm about this light, for it was a cold, harsh light.

Slowly, she walked towards the said window, fingers itching to pull out the tiny scissors just to feel _something_ that she could protect herself with. Some kind of weapon.

The closer she got to the window, other sounds began to drown out the panicked cries of the hospital inhabitants . . . _Snarls_ , _growling_ , the sounds of _hunger_. Each step closer to the window she took made Beth less willing to see what she _knew_ she would undoubtedly see out there in the vastness of the life-empty city.

Upon reaching the window, her hands came up and pressed flat against the glass, the scissors having being forgotten and fallen to the ground with a loud _clang!_ as she stood and stared out at the monstrosity gathered at the foot of Grady Memorial Hospital . . .

A herd of the undead. A _huge_ herd, packed into the space surrounding the hospital, rotting corpses pressed against the building, banging and gnawing against the plaster and glass.

 _Hundreds_ of walkers spilling in through the newly made openings, taking what was left of the world that wasn't claimed as theirs. Like they always did. Because there was nowhere left that was truly safe.

 _Safe_ had a completely different meaning to what it meant before the turn. Things had changed the ways in which people felt safe.

Right now, being safe was learning to adapt.

And Beth had; she was adapting. And if others wanted to survive too, then they would have to as well.

.

.


	3. If at first you don't succeed, try again

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Dr. Steven Edwards nibbled at the skin around his thumbnail nervously, as everyone around him screamed how they were going to die, how this was the end, etc. He wanted to reassure them, tell them they'd be fine and that they'd pull through . . .

Like Dawn would say.

She was a real piece of work, but she'd known how to handle a crisis pretty damn well. He wouldn't exactly say that he _missed_ her, he just missed her ability to settle things like this. Aside from that, he was nearly _glad_ she was gone. Glad that the man from Beth's group had finished her off to avenge his friend.

 _Friend_.

That word felt weird on his mind with the world the way it was now.

There was no room left for friends now. You only owed people, were worth something, and if you were lucky, they kept you alive. That's what it was about now— _owing_. But was it the same with Beth and her group? Beth had done all in her power to save the woman that had been wheeled in from a car accident, probably would have threatened him if she had to.

Had that woman owed Beth? Had that group owed Beth? Or had Beth owed _them_?

Something about that speculation made Edwards doubt that. There was something in the way the members of the group had reacted to the shooting. Something that suggested more than a debt.

The fire in the bowman's eyes as he pulled out his gun to shoot Dawn. Sheer, cold rage.

 _Vengeance_.

He'd finished her off as vengeance . . . For Beth.

That implied that they cared. The fact that they would kill to avenge one of their own, even though it would make no difference. That was something more. Something Edwards wasn't familiar with.

It had also saved him and a handful of others the trouble of finishing Dawn themselves, though none would ever work up the courage to actually _act_ as he had.

All except _Beth_. Beth had displayed that courage, and Dawn had seen it too.

She'd worried for her downfall at the hands of a little girl, who'd eventually worked up the courage to stop her and say _no_. An act which resulted in both their lives.

 _I get it now._

The system. A selfish system that was kill, or _be_ killed. Each man for himself. Beth finally understood that and was not going to stand for it. And she'd died for it . . .

Only she hadn't.

Recently, she'd proven him wrong. Or rather, three weeks earlier _specifically_ , when the bloodied up Beth Greene had stumbled back into the grounds of Grady and collapsed on the gravel.

He'd seen her from the roof, watched as she fell to the ground, laced in her own blood and gore.

He'd known then that she was a fighter, destined for great things. Edwards was never one to believe lightly in fantastical things such as destiny, but with her . . . She was a different matter entirely.

"You need to stop panickin'!"

 _Speak of the devil_ , he thought, as he and every other head in the corridor turned to face the headstrong blonde that came storming down the hallway, battle wounds bound in wrappings and clad in a flimsy piece of blue surgical cloth.

Her fists were balled at her sides and she looked at the group of cops and wards with a fire burning in her eyes. A fire akin to what he'd seen in the eyes of the man with the crossbow.

 _Cold rage_.

"All of this isn't gonna to help the situation," she went on, "You need to stay calm."

"Stay _calm_!?" one of the cops, Bello, cried in horror. "How the fuck are we supposed to stay _calm_ when the dead are knocking at our door!? Like, _literally_ knocking at our door! And instead of waiting for us to open or ignore it, they're coming crashing in!"

.

.

Beth narrowed her eyes at the female cop. She recognised this woman as one of the officers that foiled her first escape attempt with Noah.

 _Untrustworthy_ , she noted to herself.

"But that's just what they do." she pointed out, "Come knockin' on doors to houses they don't own already, trying to take the property for themselves. 'Cause that's what they do. They wanna own it _all_ , and kill every last livin' person there is."

She paused to look around at them, studying their expressions. So oblivious, so tame, and unbeknownst to the terrors outside the safety of their walls.

The walls that were about to fall.

They weren't ready, but they needed to be.

"And you can't stop it." she said, "So you run, as far as you can . . . So you _live_."

Another cop, Franco, spoke up.

"Are you telling us to give _up_? That we shouldn't fight? We should just . . . _run away_?"

"Running away sometimes doesn't make you a coward. It makes you smart, and not willin' to die in some stupid way."

Like with scissors.

". . . I don't wanna die." the elderly ward that had helped Beth escape by causing a diversion said quietly.

 _Percy_ , he was called. Percy, the old man who liked reading and strawberries. He reminded her of her father in some ways, even aesthetically to an extent.

He didn't want to die. That's what he'd said. He didn't want to.

Beth smiled.

"You _won't_ _. ._." she shook her head, "Not if you come with me. I can get you out . . . I can get _all_ of you out."

 _Or I can at least try._

Bello snorted, wiping the smile off Beth's face just as quickly as it had formed.

" _You_? What can _you_ do? You may have miraculously survived a bullet to the head and took Dawn out for us, but you were still no more than a ward before that happened! You were nothing. Nobody important. Just Dawn's experiment that she eventually got bored with and got rid of. You're _nothing_."

 _I was nobody, nothin'_ _. . ._

Before, those words would have stung, but now all Beth felt for the female cop was pity.

Pity, that she knew so little of the outside world that she still believed social statuses defined a person's importance.

"I'm a lot of things . . . A daughter, a sister, a friend, a _killer_ _. . ._ But if there's one thing I know I am for sure . . . It's a _survivor_. And worth nothing or not, I'll do _anythin'_ to stay alive. I'll do anything to make sure the people I love survive too. That's what defines who you are now, regardless of if you were a teacher before the turn or a policeman . . ."

Her gaze drifted to Edwards.

"Or a doctor . . . You're a survivor now, and you have to fight if ya wanna keep on livin'. Your life is measured by how much you're willing to _fight_ for it."

Bello shut up then.

"We can make it, we just have to be willing to _try_."

The group was eerily silent, regarding her in a cautious manner as they pondered the meaning behind her words.

"And you can do it. I know you can. You just have to be ready to accept and face what's out there, instead of sitting behind walls and pretending everythin' is the way it used to be. 'Cause it's not. There are some scary things out there, I won't lie about that, but it's still worth fighting for."

"Help isn't coming, is it? Not like Dawn said it was. It's hopeless."

Beth looked at who the voice belonged to.

She recognised the woman as one of the officers from the exchange, who'd been traded. Edwards had mentioned her in the room before as well. _Shepherd_ , her name was.

Beth shook her head, "You're right about there being no help coming, but not about it being hopeless. You don't _need_ help, you can learn to take care of _yourselves_. You _need_ to be able to take care of yourself out there, or you won't make it. That's just the harsh truth of the situation. But if you have _hope_ _. . ._ You can live."

 _If you don't have hope, what's the point of living?_

A smile appeared on Percy's wrinkled face at her words. A smile so similar to that of her father's that it hurt to look at, and Beth had to look away.

"We can get out of here. We can make it. And I can't do it on my own."

She extended her hand without the cast on to Shepherd, who stood at the front, and smiled, never having spoken for so long to such a big group all her life.

"So _trust_ me. Come with me."

 _Live_.

No more could be said as the snarls of walkers sounded throughout the building, and Beth almost swore.

She'd gotten so carried away that she'd forgotten that they were working against time, and undoubtedly upon every word she'd spouted, a dozen walkers were making their way up the hospital stairs. There was no time to talk or think now, they had to _act_. They had to fight to live, because if you don't fight, you die.

"Where are the guns kept?!" she yelled.

"Over in the weapons storage room in the east wing!" Shepherd yelled back over the sound of panic and rushing bodies that ran to gather necessities, "Two corridors down!"

"Okay! Get what's important an' get outta here!"

Beth darted to the room where they kept the weapons and ushered others over, pushing as many guns and rifles into their hands they could carry.

She picked up two black handguns, one for each hand, and headed to where she recalled they kept the belongings of people they took in. Spotting her brown cowboy boots resting against the wall of the large closet, she grabbed them and stuffed her bare feet into them. She then looked around frantically for her more practical polo and jeans, but couldn't see them.

A scowl grew on her face when she supposed someone must have thrown them away. They were completely covered in blood after all, and she doubted there were many fabric softeners around to wash them properly these days.

She did, however, manage to find her _necklace_ , which she threw over her head and left hanging around her neck where it belonged. That alone was enough to give her some sense of familiarity and act as a reminder of her family.

Her bracelets were nowhere to be found, and the scar on her wrist was plainly visible for any who looked.

Strangely, she found that she didn't care.

" _Beth_!"

The cry from down the corridors startled her, even more so as the groans of the undead had increased in closeness. She bolted in the direction of the cry and found Edwards and some others staring down the elevator shaft

"What're you doing?" she shouted, "Get movin'! This shaft will take us all the way down to the back entrance! Jump down! What're you waitin' for!?"

The answer to Beth's question laid at the pit of the elevator shaft, and she released a shaky gasp at the sight of a cluster of walkers gathered down in the pit, growling with their hands extended in ascent, blocking their escape route. She frowned and looked around for another exit.

 _No exit_ signs flew around her vision, taunting . . . _mocking_ her by highlighting the lack of escape routes available.

There _had_ to be a way out.

What about the staircase?

She ran to investigate her thoughts and wasn't too surprised to find the staircase blocked with rotting walkers trying to make their way up. That idea was scrapped just as quickly as it had formed.

Those walkers were closer than she was comfortable with.

They needed to find another way out soon, or it could very well be the end. But how were they to get out? _How_?

 _Thinkthinkthink, Beth_ _. . ._ _Think._

 _"_ The roof! _"_ she beamed aloud, grabbing Edwards by his coat and pulling him along with a yelp, "Get to the roof!"

An unexpected collision with Shepherd and another officer nearly knocked Beth off her feet as she flew straight into them when turning a corner, and almost dropped her guns.

The small group of wards and officers darted past her in the direction of the roof, and Edwards collided hard into her back.

"Get everyone to the roof," Beth told Shepherd, "Get them out of here! That's your job, okay?"

 _We all got jobs to do._

She reached back to grasp Edwards's coat again only to discover he was suddenly missing.

She looked around frantically, and it was then that she caught a glimpse of his white coat vanishing around a corner, and she bounded after him. She saw him enter a room beside the medicine cabinet and watched him emerge soon after with a black briefcase held tightly to his chest.

She rushed to him.

"What the hell are you _doing_!? There's no time to be gatherin' personal belongings! We have to go! _Now_!"

"I know, I know . . ." he said sheepishly, "I just had to get . . . _something_."

Whatever Beth was going to shout was cut short by a window being shattered to their left, and she and Edwards ducked to avoid being torn apart by the flying shards of glass.

Walkers crawled through the now broken window from the staircase, making the already frightened doctor scream and bolt in the opposite direction.

Oddly enough, Beth was reminded of a fleeing rabbit in that moment.

At least he wasn't dumb enough to freeze up in fear and let them devour him.

She ran in the same direction he had, turning to shoot at walkers coming into range every now and then. Her blonde locks bounced at her shoulders as she fired, billowing behind her like trails of dirty golden thread fluttering about wildly.

The _bang!_ from each gunshot echoed over the walker snarls, ringing in Beth's ears and starting the throbbing in her head again, reminding her of the hole that had been torn through her soul. A constant reminder of her stupidity _and_ luck. When she finally caught up with the others they were piling up the steps to the rooftop and were pressed together tightly clogging up the path.

The walkers were right behind.

Beth reached into the officer she thought was called Licari's pocket and fished around for the lighter she'd seen him use on the roof when he smoked with Dawn.

"The hell!?" he yelled as she pulled out said lighter and tore the medical piece from Edwards's neck.

Her finger flicked the switch, igniting the tiny flame, and she set the rubber on the medical appliance alight. She then tossed it into the crowd of walkers and watched huge flames erupt as they licked the rotten flesh and burned away into the carcasses.

Franco withdrew what she guessed was a secret brand of whiskey from his pocket, judging from Shepherd's surprised reaction, and threw that into the crowd too, sending the flames wild before he ran up to the roof.

Beth coughed upon a deep inhale of smoke and turned to go up the roof, but stumbled mid-stride.

Edwards caught her by the hand and tugged her up out of the burning corridor up into the sunlight. Beth tried to ignore the pain in her head and the coughing fit she was experiencing, as she quickly limped over to the edge of the building to look down.

This herd was gigantic, larger than any she'd seen in a long time. There must surely be hundreds, filling the city to the brim.

Her mind wandered to Rick and the others, and she worried for their safety.

Had _they_ gotten out okay?

"They're trying to come up here!" one of the wards screamed at the sight of the burning walkers trying to clamber up the ladder to the roof.

"Shoot 'em down!" yelled Bello, taking a position in front of the exit and holding up her gun to shoot.

Coughing and spluttering, Beth hobbled around searching for some way out.

 _There's always another way out_ , was what her daddy had said, once upon a time.

 _No matter how sticky the situation, no matter how impossible it may seem, there's always another way out, Bethy_. _Don't you forget that._

She froze in realization when her painfully throbbing mind conjured up an idea. The _only_ idea . . .

The only way out.

"We're gonna have to jump . . ." she breathed.

Edwards heard her.

" _What_!?" he squeaked, "Are you insane? _Jump!_? Jump _wher_ e!?"

Her hand rose to point to the rooftop of a building just across from Grady.

"There."

Edwards followed her finger and held the briefcase he had insisted on going back for close to his chest. He chewed his bottom lip and readjusted his glasses nervously.

"They're comin' up!" Shepherd yelled, "Do we have a plan!? 'Cause I really hope we do!"

"We need to jump across to that building there!" Beth yelled back, before choking on coughs again, "This— _cough!_ _—_ building could go up at any time because of the fire! We need— _cough!_ . . . to get out . . . If we can just manage to jump across . . . !"

"After you, little miss blondie." Bello remarked dryly, hand jolting wildly from shooting, "Go ahead and show us how it's done if you're so sure about it."

Anger bubbled in Beth's chest.

"I'll go first," the officer that had been with Shepherd volunteered.

 _Tanaka_ , Beth was sure his name was.

"I used to do long jumping as a sport when I was a kid." he said.

"Fine, just go!" Shepherd nodded, firing her own gun at the walkers now.

Tanaka made his way over to the edge of the rooftop and strapped his gun to his belt. He took a few steps back to gain velocity, before jumping off the edge and sailing through the air.

The other building, luckily, wasn't many meters away, so he was able to make the jump with not much worse than a crumpled landing. The fact that he'd made it seemed to be good enough for the others, and several other officers and wards followed his example. But when _Perc_ y went for it, however . . . The kind old man's start was weak, and he hadn't built up a sufficient amount of speed before his feet left the floor.

So down he went, falling into the sea of the undead where he would be torn apart, limb by limb.

 _We can live here. All of us._

 _Liar._

A lump welled in Beth's throat and she clenched her teeth, forcing herself to look away as he fell, the sound of his screams ringing in her ears in unison with the gunshots and pulse of blood-flow circulating her head wound.

The walkers had gotten onto the roof, and hauled themselves towards the remaining small cluster of people situated atop the Grady building. Beth, Edwards, Shepherd, Bello, and a female ward were the only ones left now, the others having either jumped to safety or fallen to their death.

Edwards ran to the edge and held the briefcase up for Tanaka to see before he threw it into the officer's waiting arms.

What was so special about that case? Beth wondered as Edwards soon leaped across to the other building and retrieved it.

"Beth!" Shepherd shouted over the gunfire, "Get your ass out'a here!"

Beth blinked and snapped back to reality, and was about to run to the edge before she stopped.

There was one ward still left on this side. A girl who looked to be around the same age as her, if not then slightly older.

She was crying, her head was buried in her hands and her long dark hair had spilled down and was covering her face. Beth knelt down and gently brushed her thumb over the girl's arm.

She looked up with a jolt, big green eyes filled with glistening droplets and cheeks stained with those tears.

 _What are we waiting for?_

Beth forced herself to flash her famous smile.

"Hey," she said softly, "C'mon. We can't stay here. We have to get to that other building. It's not safe here anymore, you have to get up now. Can you stand?"

The girl's lips shook.

". . . I—I . . . I can't . . . I . . ."

Thick tears rolled down her cheeks as she stumbled over her words. She was clutching her chest and her breathing was coming out in harsh, unsteady sobs.

She was experiencing a panic attack.

Beth's eyes softened.

"What's your name?"

". . . E—Effy . . . It's Effy."

" _Effy_ _. . ._ I'm Beth."

"I know . . ." she sniffled, jumping at the gunshots and walker snarls, "You're Beth Greene . . . The girl from the outside who survived a headshot. Who challenged _Dawn_. Everyone in the hospital knows who you are."

Her words struck a chord in Beth's heart, and her face flooded with warmth and sudden affection for this girl.

To an extent, she saw herself in this girl. The Beth from the farm, when she'd been so afraid and lost. When no one had understood. Just tip-toed around her like broken glass after her suicide attempt, treating her as if she might break if they got too close.

She wasn't going to let this girl die. Wasn't going to let her go through what she'd been through. She'd protect anyone she could from having to go through _that_.

"Come on," Beth urged, clasping Effy's hand and pulling her up, "You can do it. I _know_ you can. Come on."

"How . . . How can you possibly _know_ that though?" Effy trembled as Beth led her over to the edge quickly.

Beth's eyes flashed.

"I just _do_. It's what I choose to believe, and then it usually comes true if I believe it enough. You just gotta believe and have faith, as cringy as it sounds. Have faith _,_ and it'll work out."

 _Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith._

Effy swallowed and nodded, squeezing Beth's hand tightly, breathing deeply.

Beth looked back over her shoulder at Shepherd and Bello, who were still shooting like mad.

Shepherd caught the blonde staring and met her gaze, "You go! We'll be right behind you!"

Beth nodded, before turning to Effy and signaling her to jump. She released her and they both took several steps back, before running towards the edge and preparing to leap. But before Beth's feet left the ground, the throbbing in her head intensified and her stomach twisted into tight little knots. She still jumped in sync with Effy, but her legs were suddenly jelly and her vision was spinning. The guns she carried dropped from her grasp and tumbled down into the walker abyss below . . .

"Beth!" came Edwards' strangled cry as she drifted in and out of consciousness mid-air, and for a minute it almost sounded like _Daryl_ calling her name.

Images of darkness, walkers, and a white cross disappearing into the dark all spun around in her head, and blonde hair whipped into her face as her stomach collided with the side of the building.

She held onto the side of the skyscraper, head spinning with moving pictures and ears ringing with sounds from what felt like years ago. A time of woods, and candles, and pianos.

Of _Keep singin',_ and _What changed your mind?_ and an _Oh_ that made the plaster beneath her fingertips seem to fall away into nothing . . .

 _What changed your mind?_

"Beth!"

 _Y'know._

 _"Beth!"_

 _._ _. ._ _Oh._

Suddenly several pairs of arms were upon her, hauling her up so that she fell on her back onto the hard concrete of the roof. Her lashes fluttered as her lips parted for air, the puncture wounds all over her body suddenly feeling very itchy, and the banging in her head ever painful.

Her ankle hurt too. Was there no time left for a serious piggyback?

She almost felt laughter bubbling in her stomach at the thoughts running ramped through her head.

 _So this was what madness felt like?_ she supposed. This probably was close to madness really, and it wouldn't be at all surprising if she _was_ mad at this stage.

A loud cry broke the trance she was in, and a fire flooded into her veins, hot and scorching, similar to the sensation of the rubber tubes feeding odd liquid into her body.

Those puncture holes were now _immensely_ itchy and hot.

She felt _alight_.

Shepherd landed on the other building with them and turned back to look at Bello. The screams of the female officer being torn apart by walkers caused Beth to sit up and look.

Bello was screeching as her ligaments were ripped off and forced down the decaying mouths of the rotting carcasses.

"I had her hand . . ." Shepherd was visibly trembling, "I had her hand right in my grasp . . . and I . . ."

 _Lori's cries were loud into the dark of the night as she tried to pull Beth away from Patricia, who_ _was being eaten alive by monsters and just wouldn't let go of Beth's hand._

 _She w_ _ouldn't let go_ _. . ._ _She had her hand_ _. . ._ _And she still_ _. . ._

Beth snapped out of it and rose to her feet, the burning in her veins and the stinging in her brain forgotten, as she raised Franco's gun.

Her finger trembled on the trigger momentarily as she realized that this would be her third official kill . . . but that hesitance was immediately diminished when she saw the pleading look in Bello's eyes as she was being devoured. A look that seemed to beg . . .

 _Please._

 _Just do it._

She obliged.

The bullet from the handgun sailed across the space between buildings and hit Bello bang in the center of her head, killing her instantly. Silence fell upon the group, and the sounds of feasting walkers and growling from below echoed out into the city. The flames from the walkers spread along the Grady building, igniting a fine fire that engulfed the building, swallowing it in an array of embers.

Its former residents watched in dismay whilst the flames reflected in Beth's eyes.

She watched as it burned, like it should, like it _deserved_ to.

 _We should burn it down._

 _You have to put it away, or it kills you._

 _You have to._

She watched that hospital building burn with a thrill running through her veins, and as it burned . . . she lifted her arm and held her middle finger to the sky.

.

.


	4. Weak

**Author's Corner**

Thank you _sooo_ much for all the kind support so far! Seriously, I appreciate it so much.

The season six trailer came out recently and man was it mad! (Also the ending part with Daryl kidnapped on his own reminded me a lot of Beth in the season five trailer and idk how I feel about that... Unless this is the writers' way of tying the two back together then I'll be cool with it.) Anyway it got me back in a zombie mood so here's the third chapter.

Hope you enjoy it! Please review if you do.

 **Disclaimer:** TWD and it's characters sadly do not belong to me, because if they did I would've made Bethyl canon long ago.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

"So, I've been thinkin'. We should find a change of clothes."

Beth walked along the rooftops of Atlanta beside Officer Shepherd, the early rays of the morning sun stretching out across the dystopian city making her blonde hair glow with soft shades of pinks and purples.

Shepherd regarded her with a curious expression, mulling over the random question the girl had just spouted. Gone was the fire from her eyes that had burned in unison with the flames of the Grady building, and in their place were now big doe-like pools of blue, glinting gently from the soft light of the sunrise.

"Change of _clothes_?" Shepherd mimicked, "We're stuck in a city infested with rotters, with no solid plan on how to get out . . . And you're thinking about _clothes_? We don't have time to be running around for silly things like that. What do you want a change of clothes for anyway?"

Beth flashed Shepherd a dry look.

Had the woman not taken a proper look at what she was wearing? It was hardly an intact outfit, that was for sure. She could literally be considered _naked_. And as for serving as protection from walkers . . . It wouldn't do the trick in the slightest.

 _Fuckin' safety hazard_ , the Daryl in the back of her mind grumbled, and she suppressed a tiny smile at the thought.

"Um . . . Well, not that I'm complaining, but . . . Have you _seen_ what I'm wearing?"

She gestured to the thin blue medical dress that barely came to her mid-thigh, and Shepherd seemed to understand what she meant then. The female cop sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose, as Beth raised an eyebrow.

"Okay," she said at last, "I can see what you mean. Fine, we'll look out for a clothing store or something. There's gotta be one somewhere around this huge-ass city."

Effy jogged up so that she was walking beside Beth and smiled.

"I could totally go for another look right now too," she grinned.

Beth smiled back. After the burning of Grady and the girl's little panic attack, the group had settled down in an empty hardware store for the night that seemed relatively safe. Beth and Effy had talked for a while, both enjoying what they could of each other's company.

It was rare for Beth to meet someone around her age in the apocalypse, and she wasn't going to pass up the opportunity of brief normality so easily. Beth had enjoyed the simplicity of conversation and had awoken the next day feeling oddly refreshed, like a certain weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The throbbing in her head had also subsided to an extent, and the puncture marks across her body were notably less itchy than the previous day. So it was a pretty good start to a day really.

She'd also awoken with the desire to change into something that covered a little more of her flesh.

She missed her snug warm jeans and yellow polo, and even the scratchy grey cardigan she'd rummaged from a closet in abandoned forest shack. Hell, she was so uncomfortable in what she was wearing that she'd rather wear a bin bag. It would probably cover more too.

She prayed for a clothing store madly, desperate for the once given luxury that was clothing, how she'd taken it for granted before the turn. So she prayed for a miracle . . .

And got one.

 _The heavens must have really taken a shine to me_ , she thought with an inward grin as she pointed the department store out to Shepherd that sat just across the block . . .

Past a flock of walkers.

"C'mon," Beth nudged Effy, jogging towards the edge of the building and looking for a way down.

"Are you quite mad, Beth?" Edwards stumbled over his words as he trotted over to her, briefcase clutched to his chest, "This is practically _suicide_ _,_ you know."

Suicide _._

 _Oh my god_ _. . ._

 _._ _. ._ _I'm sorry_ _. . . !_

She looked at him from over her shoulder and narrowed her eyes.

"Maybe I have a death wish or somethin'," she answered dryly, and he squirmed uncomfortably over the response.

There was a fire escape staircase snaking down the side of the building in a square spiral.

Beth watched the walkers staggering around below, occasionally bumping into each other and snarling, and an idea began to take shape in her mind as she watched them wandering blindly.

"Do you think we can get one of them on their own and pull it to the side?" she asked.

Franco regarded the herd and rubbed the back of his head.

"I . . . guess," he mumbled, "But what the hell for?"

She pointed to the emergency staircase that led towards the edge of the herd where there was the least amount of walkers. They all followed her pointing finger.

"If a few of us head down there," she explained, "A few of us can grab one, kill it, then pull up to where the others are. Now, this next part sounds gross, but if we cover ourselves in their remains, we can slip through unnoticed, like we're one of them. It works, really."

She felt the weight of Franco's doubtful gaze, and she looked at him intently.

"Just _trust_ me," she pressed, eyes gleaming with determination as Franco looked at her, and he felt his resolve weakening at the intensity of her gaze.

It was a bizarre plan for certain, but the Grady crew decided against arguing with her assumedly because of how she'd helped get them out of the walker-breached hospital. They made their way down the spiral staircase, Edwards and the wards flinching whenever they thought a walker had spotted them.

It was clear how little they'd been exposed to the world from their behaviours.

That would need to change. If they were going to make it out here.

They were about one story high on the staircase when Beth gestured for them to stop through silent hand communication. She stared down and studied the movements of the walkers carefully, watching their movements.

" _That_ one," she said quietly.

She'd picked out a sluggish female one on the edge of the herd with decaying limbs that didn't support its weight very much. A relatively easy target, in her opinion. There was no point in going for the stronger ones that would pose more of a challenge. This needed to be fast.

It _had_ to be fast.

Tanaka stepped forward.

"I'll get it," he volunteered.

Beth looked at him carefully, and he smiled knowingly at her, but oddly his smile held traces of . . . _guilt_ behind it. A hidden shame flickering away in his irises.

"I'm good at grabbing things," he said, ". . . Stopped _you_ from escaping when you and Noah tried, didn't I?"

 _Of course_.

"But not a boy with a leg defect and no weapon?" she asked, and he made a face that resembled a sheepish grin.

She wondered what had happened to Noah after the exchange, and if he was with Rick and the others. He hadn't been at Grady when she'd awoken, nor had he been mentioned, so she liked to believe that that was where he was, with them.

 _Safe_.

That was what being safe was these days—safe was with people like _them_. People you could rely on, who'd risk their lives to ensure your well-being, and who'd fight for and protect you. Who believed in you no matter what . . .

They hadn't exactly done that last part.

 _Daryl had_ , the optimistic side of her mind countered.

Daryl Dixon had believed in her; was probably the only one who had truly believed. And if _he_ could find it in him to believe in her, then that was another miracle.

Tanaka smirked at her comment and brushed her arm as he passed her on the stairs, speaking quietly but so only she could hear.

"I'm sorry for that, by the way," he mumbled, "For condemnin' you. And him."

 _I knew you'd be back._

He went down quietly, gun raised in case of trouble.

That was a mistake. A gunshot would draw too much attention. It was too loud. A knife would've been much better.

Her knife, she remembered then. She didn't have her knife.

Her hip suddenly felt very naked when she realised that. It hadn't been with her necklace, and neither had her clothes. Her heart sank at the thought that it too could've been disposed of, though disposing of a perfectly good weapon in the apocalypse didn't really make sense to Beth.

Knives were every bit as useful as guns, perhaps even _more_ so when you needed to be quiet. But knowing the people in Grady, so used to the protection of their walls and resources, they probably didn't think that.

Shepherd, Franco and Licari took positions against the metal railing, guns pointed down into the herd in case Tanaka got himself into serious trouble. Beth's fingers ran across the cool handle of the shotgun she'd received, and felt Effy spare her a nervous glance, though she kept her own gaze locked firmly on Tanaka's descent into what could be described as another form of Hades. He had reached the foot of the stairs, and took a step onto the long street carefully, sticking to the shadows and trying to avoid being noticed. This was the edge of the herd, so luckily he didn't have to worry about being swarmed if he was quick. Beth almost breathed a sigh of relief when she saw him withdraw a knife from his belt.

Just one stab. One quick stab through the head would do it. Then he would be home free.

Beth could feel the sweat on Effy's palm as she suddenly clutched her free hand tightly. Tanaka was moving slowly, and no walkers had noticed him yet, so maybe he would be alright?

The pounding in Beth's chest and the flames flooding through her veins suggested otherwise . . .

What if it didn't work?

 _We'll just make it work._

Time passed slowly, and seconds melded into minutes.

 _Maybe we'll be alright._

Wrong _._

A walker beside Tanaka seemed to have become suddenly very aware of the cop and was lunging towards him with bared teeth. Others followed, advancing upon him swiftly, and he held up his gun and shot one clean in the face.

The gunshot echoed.

Frowning severely, Beth leaned over the railing and fired her gun at one that was chomping painfully close to his arm, and the others followed her suit. Gunfire echoed throughout the block and probably travelled to the next few. More walkers had noticed the noise and were coming, approaching Tanaka.

This wasn't going to work.

 _Maybe we'll be alright._

 _Wrong!_

Beth bounded down the staircase and joined Tanaka on the walker-infested street, closely followed by the others. She shot two of the foul creatures in their heads and made her way over to Tanaka, who was handling the situation pretty well and was shooting decently. Some, however, weren't doing so well.

Effy was breathing heavily again, and the other three wards were shuffling in a terrified huddle, shooting in random directions and only hitting walkers on their shoulders and legs at best. And Edwards . . . The man was an absolute _mess_ in a crisis _._

He had shoved himself right at the centre of their formation and was literally whimpering. He held no weapon, only that damned _briefcase_ he carried like his life depended on it.

Beth shot an abundance of walkers and ran through the herd, encouraging the rest of the group to follow.

"Shepherd!" she called, and motioned to the glass doors of a nearby department store.

Shepherd nodded and hurried the other officers and wards along, taking out a few walkers of her own as she went.

Beth's stomach flipped as she heard one of the wards scream.

A young man, presumably only in his late twenties, had his foot ensnared by a walker on the ground that just refused to let go. Another female ward had his hand clasped in her own and was screaming as the walker sunk its teeth into his ankle.

 _You have to let go, Beth! She's gone!_

 _Patricia_ _. . . !_

 _You have to let her_ go _!_

No double thinking, Beth pushed Effy in the direction of the glass double doors and ran back to the two wards. She shot three walkers that came close and shook the woman by her shoulder.

"Hey!" she shouted, "You have to let go! He's done for!"

" _NO_!" she screamed back, cheeks streaming with tears as the other ward was being devoured beside her, yet she still refused to let go, "I _won't_ leave him!"

"But he's been bitten, you can't stay here! You'll _die_!"

" _I don't care_!"

 _Let her go_ _,_ _Beth._

 _Let her go._

Beth felt her throat hitch as she pulled harder on her shoulder. She couldn't just leave her. She couldn't.

What if Lori had just left _her_ on the farm?

What if _she'd_ just ran?

Strong arms wrapped around her and hauled her up. The one who'd captured her originally with Gorman after the funeral home had been overrun.

Alvarado, his name was, she thought.

" _No!"_

He was dragging her away from the ward!

She thrashed in his hold and kicked his thighs, trying to break free so that she could go back and save that ward, because she just couldn't leave her there to die. She couldn't.

"Let me go!" she screamed, uncaring that they were swarmed with hungry walkers, "Please! _LET ME GO_!"

Alvarado didn't.

He slung her over his shoulder and sprinted for the entrance to the department store, doors now open and protected from the herd by Shepherd and the others' shooting. The cop planted her down harshly on the ground once inside and helped the others close the huge glass doors to prevent the dead from entering. The last Beth saw of the two wards out there, was walkers slowly swarming and engulfing them from sight . . . before she could no longer see them.

Or what had become of them.

Tanaka and Franco pressed their backs against the doors to stop the walkers from breaking in whilst Shepherd and the others ran around the store frantically, returning with things to barricade the doors with. But Beth just sat on her knees where Alvarado had left her, eyes wide, heart thumping and head throbbing, as that fire from before flooded through her veins and sent scorching waves throughout her entire body—engulfed from within. Effy sat several feet away from her, breathing coming out in harsh, unsteady pants as she held a hand to her chest and tried to stop her body quaking roughly. Edwards was at her side, clasping her other hand and telling her to take long, deep breaths. At least he was doing _something_.

He glanced across at Beth, who still sat motionless in some kind of trance, and ordered the remaining ward to look after Effy whilst he made his way over to her. He crawled over to where Beth sat and looked her up and down for injuries. Pleased when he found none other than faint bruises on her legs and forearms, he reached out his hand to touch her shoulder.

She slapped it away the second he was about to come into contact with her flesh, and when her gaze snapped up to meet his, glared.

He withdrew his hand instantly.

"I'm _fine_." she spat through clenched teeth, swallowing the bitterness and forcing her gaze away from him. " _Fine_."

The door was barricaded with various pieces of furniture. Desks, wardrobes, refrigerators, etc. It should hold for a while. They weren't planning on making a permanent stay here anyway, so it wasn't a huge problem. They just needed to check the place out for walkers and secure another escape route, since the front entrance was now out of the question.

Shepherd made her way over to where Beth sat and looked down at the blonde.

"She okay?" she asked Edwards.

That rubbed Beth in the wrong way even more, the fact that Shepherd felt the need to ask _him_ rather than her, when she was perfectly capable of giving an answer herself. Like she was incapable . . . incompetent . . .

Weak.

 _They think I'm scrawny_ _. . ._ _T_ _hey_ think _I'm weak_ _. . ._

Edwards gave a nod, "Other than a couple of bruises and scrapes, she should be okay. It's nothing severe."

 _But t_ _hey don't know shit about me._

"Then she doesn't need—?"

" _No_." he cut her off unusually sharply, "No. She doesn't."

Beth looked at him, confused by his sudden keenness and level of ambiguity in his tone.

" _What_ don't I need?" she asked.

He avoided her gaze awkwardly, and his mouth twitched

". . . Nothing," he muttered, "Just . . . Nothing."

Effy seemed to have recovered from her panic attack, thanks to the help of the unnamed ward, and made her way over to Beth. She smiled down at her weakly and extended a hand to help her up. Beth took it hesitantly and allowed herself to be hauled up off the floor. She gave Effy a weak smile of her own, a surprising amount of effort needing to be put into a simple _smile,_ and found herself feeling somewhat alarmed.

She remembered how easy it had been to give a smile, once upon a time. How easy it had been to flash one just to cheer someone up when they were feeling down to lift their spirits.

Now it just felt fake. Like it wasn't real. Like none of it had _ever_ been real.

"Well, you got what you wanted, Beth," Shepherd remarked whilst looking around the store, "We should be some clothes in here somewhere. We should scour the place and see what we can find. If anyone gets into a scrape, just holler and we'll be there."

They split up to investigate the place, weapons out like Shepherd had said in case of trouble, be it walkers _or_ humans.

Both translated to _enemy_ now.

Beth wandered into the clothing section and felt her heart rise instantly at what she saw. Never before had she been so pleased to see something as simple as clothing, especially after the vast collection she had back at the farm in her pretty spacious wardrobe.

A cupboard filled with colours. Yellows, pinks, and blues. Shirts and jeans, dresses and skirts, frocks and shorts . . . How she missed being able to wear nice things like that.

Her thoughts wandered to the dresses she would wear to all those high school parties. Glittering midnight black patterned sequins, or just simple sunny yellow frocks that spun with her twirls. And she'd paint her eyes with dark makeup like Maggie did, making the blue of her eyes gleam, and ignore the red cups filled with beer that everybody had and just dance to the music.

Or she thought of the dresses and skirts she'd wear to church every Sunday morning. Bright floaty fabric, that clung to her skin as she swayed in the columns and sung along to the hymns with the organ playing powerfully in strong octaves . . . in what felt like a thousand lifetimes ago.

The unsalvageable entity that was _memory_.

Thinking about that wouldn't help right now, so she fished out a plain white vest from a hanger that went against all those creative styled colours she used to wear and a pair of blue jeans that left the ankles exposed. She made her way over to one of the dressing room stalls to change, and spotted a bowl of hair ties and bands as she walked by. She picked a couple out and ventured into the changing rooms with her gun held high in case of trouble.

The tiny stocks where women had once changed into beautiful clothes during shopping sprees were now painfully empty.

A corpse laid across the ground in the center of the changing room, dead from a blow to the head and seemingly not coming back to reanimate. It laid in a pool of its own blood, the red soaking its pale brown strands.

Effy wandered into the room behind her, letting off a light gasp at the body on the floor when she saw it and very nearly dropping the pile of clothes in her arms.

". . . Is it dead?" she whispered.

Beth nodded, "Yeah."

"And . . . _n_ _ot_ _-_ _coming_ _-_ _back_ _,_ kind of dead?"

"It's not coming back."

That seemed to put her at ease as she walked over to the corpse and laid the clothes down for a minute.

She pulled the rug on the floor and dragged it closer to her.

"What're you doin'?" Beth asked as Effy continued to pull the rug closer towards her and the corpse.

The girl glanced up and flashed a tiny smile.

"I'm covering her," she said simply, "It just . . . I know she's dead and all, and it probably doesn't matter . . . but it just seems _right_ , you know. It feels like something someone should do. To show they're not just mindless monsters like how we force ourselves to see them. It probably doesn't matter after all, but still . . ."

Still.

 _It does matter._

Beth watched Effy cover the corpse with the rug, her mind flashing with pictures of darkness, a country club, a sign reading _rich bitch_ , golf clubs smashing the heads of walkers giving chase, and broken glasses in an abandoned bar filled with the scent of spilled Peach Schnapps.

She tied her hair into two low pigtails and went into one of the changing cells.

.

.

Tanaka had been bitten.

 _Of course, he had been_.

Edwards lifted the officer's sleeve to reveal the bloody mark burned onto the flesh of his arm. Tendrils of flesh had been pulled out, with blood pouring and dripping down onto the linen floor, clearly on its way to infected.

Beth knew it had to have been too good to be true for all of them to have gotten out of such a situation.

 _Not all of us_ , the cynical part of her punctured brain whispered.

Not everyone.

The others were debating what to do with him, tension flooding the room and building a sweat on everyone's brows, but Beth knew what had to be done.

Her finger itched on the trigger of her gun, and she could feel beads of sweat gathering on her brow beneath her head bandage. There was only one way out of this . . . Only one.

 _There's always another way out._

Or there was . . . _that._

Beth tucked her gun into her boot and moved over to Tanaka to take his wrist and examine the bite.

The pouring blood made it look far worse than it was, for the bite itself was relatively shallow in depth. He must have been bitten quickly whilst running. He probably hadn't even noticed at the time.

"We're gonna cut it off."

Beth looked up at Edwards for voicing her own thought. His eyes were somber and his mouth was pressed into a firm line. Joan came to Beth's mind then. Joan and the metal wire with all that spurting blood, and she chewed her lip. Tanaka paled and his expression grew very alarmed, and shifted in his position uncomfortably.

Shepherd looked at the doctor, then down to the briefcase he hadn't let go of.

"Will it work?" Franco asked, "We don't have the resources here that we had in the hospital."

"It worked at the prison," Beth unintentionally voiced aloud, her words more self-reassuring than anything else, "We didn't have anything there except a few bandages and water, and that still worked."

Her daddy had survived a leg amputation with nothing more than foraged medicine and wrappings. He'd laid on that cell bunker with the stump of his leg bound and bleeding, and he'd got through it. He'd _made_ it . . . so maybe Tanaka could too.

Edwards took his place by Tanaka and put the briefcase down beside him.

"We have all we need," he said in a low voice, "Now what are we gonna use for the amputation? Because I don't think one of our flimsy knives are going to do the trick."

"I saw a woodwork section in here when I was looking around," Franco commented, "Should be some kind of saw lying around. I can go look?"

Shepherd nodded and darted off down a different aisle.

Tanaka was visibly distressed and sweating excessively, and Edwards tore a piece of his lab coat off and used it to wipe the cop's sweaty brow. He looked at Beth whilst wiping.

"I need you to hold him down like you did Joan in the hospital," he said sincerely, "Can you do that? Please . . . ? For him?"

Beth looked at his earnest expression and looked for any trace of selfishness, but found none. She then looked at Tanaka, who was now panting heavily from panic and pain from the bite.

Her hand found his, uncaring of the blood oozing down onto her palm, and she gave it a firm squeeze before turning back to Edwards and nodding. The corners of his mouth curved upward ever so slightly, and he called Effy and the other ward over to help too.

"What can we do?" Shepherd asked, eager to help.

Edwards gestured to the case and she nodded in understanding, though no words were exchanged. She knelt and worked at the clasps on the side of the case.

It opened to reveal an array of plastic containers filled with an eerie blue liquid.

The _same_ blue liquid Beth had seen pumping into her body from tubes.

Shepherd took out one of the small containers and passed it to Edwards, and he fastened it to a medical syringe from the case. He passed Tanaka a look, receiving a nod in return, before plunging the syringe into the cop's upper arm. The liquid slowly drained from the syringe into his arm to circulate in his veins and do whatever purpose it was supposed to.

Franco came running back then with a saw in arms and passed it to Edwards after he'd peeled on a pair of plastic gloves. Tanaka was fidgeting and beginning to thrash, so Beth wrapped her arms around his torso and secured him in place. Effy took the hint and held down his legs, whilst the male ward steadied and held his bitten arm straight.

What happened next was all a blur.

 _Slice! Slice!_

Gloved hands sawing through flesh and bone structure . . . blood spurting wildly with each metallic _slice!_ Edwards's gloves and lower arms were soaked with red, and droplets were splattering onto his pristine coat; tiny dots of deep red seeping onto the white canvas.

Beth tightened her arms around Tanaka and pressed her cheek into the space between his shoulder-blades, biting the inside of her cheeks to refrain from screaming.

Tanaka was doing enough of that already, not that she blamed him.

Every slice felt like a blow to the chest, and synced with the pounding in her head. Syncing with the throbbing of life and death. Minutes crawled by like hours, and the snarls from the outside drowned into actual cries of pain, a sign of true insanity to hear sounds of life from the _dead_.

Beth figured that once you'd been touched by death . . . it liked to come back for more of those searching, chaste touches.

.

.


	5. Sound draws

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Beth could feel the adrenaline pumping through her veins as she sat on an old sofa in the department store. Fingers anxiously tapping against the worn fabric of the sofa and boot heels clicking on the floor, she waited. Waited for something, _anything_ , to happen. For Tanaka to open his eyes, and reveal either his own bright brown irises . . . or the dull gaze of the infected. They all waited, for it was all they _could_ do.

Edwards was sitting on a desk across from her, and Beth studied him from where she was. He had the briefcase attached to him like a lifeline once again, chewing on his fingernails nervously as he waited.

Beth's gaze wandered down to the case held close to him, and the image of tiny plastic containers came back to her. Pale blue liquid glistening in its confinement, gleaming with a mysterious sheen to them that struck Beth with a ferocious curiosity that demanded to be fulfilled.

That liquid was inside of her. Whatever it was, it had been pumped into her body in gallons _._ Way more than what was in Tanaka's measly little shot. She had abundances of it circulating through her, leaving trails of fire as it flooded through her like some kind of poison. Acidic. Infectious.

Alien.

Edwards caught her staring and turned to look at her, removing his hand from his mouth as he did.

He looked like he wanted to say something. Beth hoped that he wouldn't, but of course, he did.

"Everything okay?" he asked quietly, hand moving to readjust his glasses.

He did that a lot, she noticed. Readjusted his glasses. He did it when he was nervous, mostly, or focusing intently on something. Maybe he was just bored in this case?

The feeling that she made him nervous was strange. Beth was sure she had never made _anyone_ feel nervous before, at least not so nervous that they felt uncomfortable talking to her at least.

She'd never considered herself that variety of person.

"Mmhmm." she nodded.

His mouth twitched and he mumbled a muffled _g_ _ood_ , before going back to chewing his nails. At least he wasn't pushy when it came to getting things out of people, that was one good thing.

Beth sat back on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The waiting was always the worst part in times like these. The small nagging fear in the back of your head that just had to assume the worst. Like, _what if he didn't make it_? What if it had been doomed from the beginning?

What if there had never even been a chance?

 _Why are you so eager to give up on him?_

 _I don't want you getting your hopes too high._

Beth thought about Maggie, her adored big sister who she'd thought the world of once. The big sister she'd idolised and tried to be exactly like, dreaming of the day she'd wake up one day and be prettier, stronger, and freer.

 _Just like Maggie_ , she used to hum to herself quietly. _Just like Maggie._

But then Beth woke up one day when the dead were walking and devouring the living, and suddenly none of that mattered anymore.

Not the clothes she wore, not what her mama was making for dinner, and not when Jimmy led her behind the barn and gave her quick stolen kisses that had stopped making her cheeks burn and her heart race. None of that which used to make her happy mattered anymore, so she broke the mirror in the bathroom, cracking her appalling refection and slashed a piece spitefully across her wrist.

It still didn't matter.

 _It does matter._

She nearly snorted.

Her own words were coming back and contradicting her negative thoughts. Damn her optimism, and damn her naïveté. She wanted to keep that optimism and hopeful way thinking, but the only thought that came to mind right now was how Maggie, the sister she'd idolised and adored for so long, had simply given up on her. Just completely _given up_ all hope that her baby sister could _possibly_ be alive.

Beth was no fool. She'd seen the signs on the road with Daryl, choked back the tears and whimpers whenever he was looking.

 _GLENN, GO TO TERMINUS._

 _GLENN._

Never was _BETH_ written anywhere in fresh blood lettering. No . . . Maggie hadn't believed she'd made it out of the prison alive. She'd given up on her the second the katana blade had hit their daddy's neck. She'd given up on her long before that. Why would she anyway? Why would _any_ of them? She wasn't like them—strong, fierce, independent . . . She wasn't like them but somehow she'd still made it.

 _I wish I could just_ _. . ._ _change._

Only she _was_ like them.

 _You did._

She _was_ strong, she was fierce, and she sure as hell was independent enough to take care of herself. Everything she'd done so far proved that to be true. That she could make it on her own.

 _Not enough_ _. . ._

 _Not like you._

Maybe it wasn't enough, but it was _something_. And something was better than nothing now.

Better than giving up.

She was trying to adapt, and she would. She _would_ adapt. Because she wanted to _live_. Had ever since she took the blunt piece of broken mirror and slashed it across her wrist, and watched the blood seep out of the slit she'd created. She wanted to live with such an intensity that even a shot to the head wasn't enough to finish her.

Willpower was a part of survival, Daddy had said once, even though not many would think it. Having a strong mentality was every bit as important as physical strength and endurance. And whilst it may not be enough to make her like Michonne, or Carol, or Maggie, or even Daryl . . . It was enough to keep her breathing. And that _was_ enough for now.

"He's coming to!"

Shepherd's sudden cry broke Beth's train of thoughts and she sat up.

Tanaka groaned and rolled onto his good side, eyelids flickering as he slowly came to. His eyes drifted open and he looked around, a weak smile stretching out across his features. His gaze traveled down to his arm stump, bound with wrappings the officers had found in the store. Beth imagined the sudden lack of finger and hand movement must be quite daunting and alarming to him, but he only chuckled and gave his arm a test movement.

Edwards was by his side in an instant, trying to prevent the oddly eager cop from sitting up.

"Woah woah woah, take it _easy_. I don't have the proper equipment to fix you if that opens up again. You got lucky this time. Even with the injection, you're still really lucky."

 _You're really, really lucky._

But Tanaka's smile remained, and he steadily lifted himself up so that he was propped up against a bookshelf.

"S'fine, Doc, don't worry about me. I'm fine. Honestly."

"That stuff really does work miracles, huh?" Licari remarked with a smile of his own, nodding to the case in Edwards' hands, "No wonder you wouldn't even consider leaving it behind. Even if you did get the chomp from one of those things."

Beth piped up. "What was that in the syringe?" she asked, drawing another frequent mouth twitch from the doctor.

"It's, uh . . . It's just—"

She cut him off with a scowl, "Don't give me that crap, I know it's not just ordinary medicine or anesthetic. My daddy was a vet. He could fix people up too, and that's nothin' like I've seen him use before. So what is it? I think I have a right to know since it's runnin' around inside _me_ too."

Silence fell over the group, and no one dared break it. It coated the air with thickness, and Beth felt anger bubbling in her chest again.

She flushed out of frustration.

"Are you people _blind_?" she asked, "Have you _seen_ the mess we're in? Why is there still so much secrecy? I hardly think it's worth anything anymore after everything we've been through . . . After everything you've _seen_."

The silence stretched.

Beth nearly sighed, but instead, she shook her head.

"Even after seeing it with your own eyes, you're _still_ clinging to the old way of things."

She bit her lip and shook her head slowly.

". . . How pathetic."

 _But you were like them_ _, once._

 _You were_ _exactly the same._

Walker snarls sounded through the heavy glass doors to the entrance, echoing through the barricade they had created.

The sirens of death, calling for the little piece of life left. It was almost mockery, cruel reality.

Why did reality have to be _cruel_ anyway? Who had decided that?

Why _shouldn't_ it be _good_?

"I know it's hard to let go of what you know about how things used to be . . . but you have to. You can't _have_ unnecessary secrets like this anymore. You have to _trust_ people, especially if you wanna have them on your side. You have to put your faith in someone else if you wanna earn their trust as well. Yeah, you have to fight to live now . . . but you have to hold on to your _humanity_ too."

Something seemed to flicker in Effy's eyes as Beth spoke. A tiny flame dancing in her pools of green. Small, but present.

Something was growing inside of her, and if fueled, it could grow to become a powerful forest inferno.

Beth saw Maggie's eyes staring up at her in the place of Effy's, and her mouth curved up into a tiny smile. She saw a similar flame shining in Shepherd's eyes too, and Tanaka's, and all of them . . .

These people could fight.

They could. They just needed a little push in the right direction, and someone to show them their potential. They just needed that fight bringing _out_ of them. And who was _Beth_ to criticise, when she'd had exactly the same problem?

But she'd had an excellent teacher that she wasn't sure she could quite live up to.

That didn't mean she couldn't try.

Something in the vicinity snapped, making Beth suddenly glad for the silence as it gave her the opportunity to listen. It was a tiny sound in the vast noise of hungry walkers bashing against the bordered glass, but it had been there. There was a shuffling too, and Beth listened intently with narrowed eyes as she tucked a stray piece of hair and bandage behind her ear.

"How many doors are there leading in here?" she whispered.

"Usually there's only the front entrance and a fire door out back that can only be opened from the inside, so we should be safe," Franco smirked knowingly . . . before that smirk melted away into an expression of panic.

"But then there's also—!"

It was too late.

A walker staggered in towards them through what turned out to be an unnoticed window around a corner, and its arms rose weakly, reaching for them. It growled wildly and hobbled over, feet shuffling along the carpet. Beth reached for her knife only to remember that it was no longer there at her hip, and she spoke too late to stop Alvarado from pulling out his handgun . . . and shooting the walker in the head.

It fell face-down on the floor, blood seeping from the hole in its head, and the shot echoed out throughout the space.

"ARE YOU _INSANE_!?" Beth screeched at him, knocking the gun out of his hand in rare fury.

The shot echoed through the whole building, and the walkers' snarls from the entrance intensified in volume.

Their fists banged against the glass more fiercely, and the barricade shook.

Beth watched the barricade shake with force and threaten to topple over, before turning back to the idiotic cop and yell some more, despite not really having to.

"That gunshot will draw every walker in the city! What were you _THINKING_!?"

This wasn't really the time to be lecturing him, but Beth just couldn't help it. She was so _mad_. _Furious_ _,_ even. She couldn't believe how someone could be so _stupid_.

It would be understandable if this was right at the beginning of the outbreak and they were all still adjusting, but they were a good two years into it now! Two years and they were still behaving like senseless children.

Grady's walls were even more detestable to her now.

"It's gonna fall!" Effy cried through shaky breaths, clutching her chest with one hand whilst the other had a handgun clasped between her trembling fingers.

The force pushing against the barricaded doors was too much, and Effy was right. It was going to fall. Shepherd pulled Tanaka's uninjured arm over her shoulder and pulled him to his feet, supporting his weight as best she could.

"Move, move!" she ordered, Edwards actually _helping_ for once as he got Tanaka's other side.

He gave Effy the sacred briefcase and told her not to lose it at any cost. She nodded frantically, balancing the importance of the case and her brewing panic attack. Franco moved his hand onto her back and guided her along, offering to take the case from her but being told it was better if he was the one with the weapon.

The furniture blocking the double doors fell with massive bumps and crashes, closely followed by the sound of glass breaking as the dead piled in. They ran through the store, knocking aisles over in attempts to slow the walkers' movements.

There were so many. So many piling in, roaring in hunger as they staggered towards their prey with snapping jaws. _Cornering_ them _._

Like rabbits.

"There's the door!" Shepherd yelled, pulling everyone's attention toward it.

 _There's always a way out._

Franco led Effy over to it and bashed on it with his fists.

"It won't open!" he growled.

The banging was drawing even more walkers, and members of the group began to fret. Effy's panic attack was almost in full swing now, and she held the briefcase tightly to her chest, taking deep unsteady breaths as her lips shook. Shepherd and Edwards held Tanaka up, moving uncomfortably as they waited for Franco to get the door open. The only people missing were Alvarado, Licari, and the male ward Beth hadn't learned the name of.

She fired several bullets at approaching walkers and looked around for their missing companions. Alvarado and Licari were nowhere to be seen, but Beth caught a glimpse of the young ward . . . surrounded by walkers.

There was an opening . . . He could run . . . He could . . .

But he chose the other way out.

Blood and brain matter splattered from the hole in his head where the bullet went through, as he held the gun under his chin and pulled the trigger, finishing himself before the walkers could get the chance. His limp body fell and walkers climbed onto him, tearing off ligaments and shoving them into their hellish jaws.

If he'd only run . . . If he'd only . . .

 _I don't wan_ _na_ _be gutted._

"Why the hell isn't this door open yet!?" Shepherd bellowed over the snarls.

"I don't know!" he yelled back, bashing into it with his shoulder, "Something's blocking it shut!"

Shepherd left Edwards to hold Tanaka by himself and joined Franco at bashing at the door. Beth took a stance between the group and the walkers and shot a few in the head. Adrenaline rushed through her with each pull of the trigger, flames licking at her skin as bullets flew.

 _Bang! Bang!_ over the violent growls of demons, until those bangs turned to pathetic clicks of a trigger being pulled on an empty firearm.

"I'm out!" she cried urgently, tossing the gun and turning over her shoulder to look for progress on the door.

Franco and Shepherd's shoulders collided with the door in unison.

"A minute!" he snapped angrily, bashing against it with more force.

"We don't _have_ a minute!"

"H—Here!" Effy hurriedly passed Beth her fully loaded handgun and took more shallow breaths.

 _You hang in there,_ were Beth's thoughts as she snapped the safety off and went back to firing.

She kicked one that got particularly close in the knee, sending it falling to the ground before she shot it in the head. There weren't enough bullets in the world to get them out of this, and Beth found herself missing the simplicity of safety behind the prison walls, where the only concerns were monitoring the number of walkers lined up against the fences, and keeping the piglets fed.

The door finally gave, sending Shepherd and Franco tumbling through with it into the back alley. Edwards wasted no time dragging Tanaka through after, and Effy looked back at Beth before running out too with the case.

Beth followed too after a couple more shots. A seemingly dead end in the alleyway made her heart sink momentarily before she noticed an escape ladder snaking up a building.

"Up there!" she cried, turning to shoot walkers that came out after them through the broken door.

Franco gestured Effy up first, and she scrambled up quickly, panting with the briefcase tucked under her arm. Next went the one-armed Tanaka, climbing with slight difficulty due to his missing limb, but still managing. Despite her condition, Effy held down her hand and helped him up.

Edwards darted up after like a rabbit next, cowardice shining clear through his quick movements. There was a mini-herd in the alley now, and the bullets from Beth and Franco's guns were doing nothing to better the situation.

Shepherd hauled herself up the ladder swiftly and looked down to shout.

" _Beth_!" she screamed, "You next!"

Franco opened his mouth before Beth could.

"Don't worry," he reassured, "I've got this. Just hurry, will ya!"

She nodded and darted for the ladder, leaping up and pulling herself up the steps. About halfway up the ladder, she looked back and called for him to take her hand. He fired a couple more times before tossing the now empty handgun and running for the ladder.

He grabbed her hand and was two steps up, when a walker caught his leg and he cried out.

" _Shit_!" he swore as more caught hold of his ankle and pulled sharply.

He looked up at Beth, his eyes and mouth massively wide.

Beth gasped, and he shook his head, the flame from before that she'd seen in his eyes burning . . . but in a low, defeated flicker.

"No!" she screamed, tightening her grip on his hand. "I won't!"

 _Not this time!_

Franco flashed a grin and shook his head.

"You have to . . ." he said, ". . . _Trust me_."

 _No, don't you dare!_

He yanked his hand free and let himself fall back into the sea of the undead.

Beth screamed loudly, her hand hanging where he had let go.

Fire shot into her head and it pounded violently in sync with her heart. Her veins blazed again and she felt edges of her vision going white. The walkers reached for her too, only she was pulled up and away by arms and planted down on the top of the building. The image of his smile as he pulled himself from her grasp was scorched onto her eyelids, and she saw it when they slid closed in a bleak downfall.

.

.


	6. Confidentiality abandonment

**Author's Corner**

Thank you all so much for your continued support, I really do mean it when I say I love every single one of you. The curiosity expressed about the blue liquid from earlier chapters may be addressed in this chapter... So yeah, there's that to look forward to. So review! Because if you won't I will find you, and cry on your lap because reviews make me happy and without them I will be sad. ;)

 **Disclaimer:** I haven't had the chance to storm AMC's headquarters yet and demand the rights of the show to be given to me... But I'm working on it.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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.

"After everythin' that's happened . . . We're just gonna up and _leave_ them!?"

"Beth. Calm down. Don't make a big deal out of this. We don't even know if they made it out—"

"But we don't know if they _didn't_ either!"

Shepherd stilled at Beth's rebukes and regarded the girl carefully. Why couldn't she understand? Alvarado and Licari were _gone_ _. . ._ As good as dead. No one could have survived such a vicious ordeal, especially with a number of rotters swarming the place. They'd had to have been eaten alive in there . . . Or maybe they'd pointed guns at their heads and took that route out? Like that ward had. There was no way anyone had gotten out of such a situation alive, it was impossible.

But unluckily for Shepherd and the remainder of their group . . . Beth didn't quite seem to understand that. _How_ she believed they could have made it out of such a thing was beyond Shepherd. The girl must be blinded by her naïveté. She seemed to have a contrasting personality; capable of being brutally honest and realistic . . . But then switching to clueless and optimistic. Hoping that they'd made it was one thing . . . Intending to actually go back and _look_ for them was another entirely. To do so would be an act of madness, not to mention suicide, and after what had gone down at the exchange, Shepherd liked to think that maybe Beth had learned from her noble mistake.

So Shepherd argued back.

.

.

"We can't afford to do that right now, we're in a delicate position as it is. _Look_ at us. We're almost falling apart."

Beth looked around at the few of them that were left. Effy was sat breathing deeply, eyes closed and mouth parted as she sucked in precious oxygen; Edwards was shaking and holding his briefcase closely, and Tanaka's arm stump hadn't stopped bleeding yet, so it was leaking fine stains of blood through his dirty wrappings. Beth herself wasn't in particularly good shape either, head throbbing, and she was still feeling shaken up from what had happened with Franco back in the alley . . .

 _Trust me_ _,_ he'd said before he had fallen . . . Fallen right out of her grasp. _That was on her_. Another life to add to the already heavy weight on her back. Sometimes she felt like the constant pounding in her head were the screams of those lives she carried . . . Those lost, who's demise were all her fault.

 _That's on me!_

 _Daryl_ _. . ._

Her eyes glimmered and she looked at Shepherd with big wobbly eyes. "But . . . We can't give up on them . . . We can't just leave them in there . . . We can't . . ."

 _Everyone we know is dead!_

 _We don't know that!_

"They could'a made it. You _know_ they could'a . . . _I_ did, didn't I?"

 _But I made it!_

Edwards looked at her then. His hand came up to readjust his glasses, and his lips parted ever so slightly. Beth met his gaze. There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Something . . . _new_. It made her think that maybe, just maybe . . . he could have his eyes opened to possibility too. The possibility that they _could_ survive. Because he _was_ a coward, that was certain. A proper, honest to god, _coward,_ whose actions only reflected upon himself. A man who relied heavily on others for protection, yet gave nothing in return other than his medical skills. Which were useful, yes, but there was no _heart_ behind that help . . . No passion. He was just a sheep, following the herd. Not his own person . . . A shadow of a man, wandering without meaning . . . He needed to find that meaning, and Beth thought that maybe she could help him find that.

The look in his eyes made her think that maybe, he could learn to adapt. Maybe he was finally willing to uncover his eyes, crawl out from under the bed, and _look_ at the monsters. Accept their existence and be willing to _fight_. Because you could only truly ever get over your fears if you faced them head-on.

 _I wish I could just change._

He would.

Shepherd, however, was having none of it, and marched the five of them over the rooftops of the city with a lame excuse that if Alvarado and Licari were alive like Beth believed, then they would find them on their own.

Dumb reasoning, but maybe they would. _Maybe_ _. . ._

.

.

The sun was low in the sky when the group finally found themselves on the outskirts of the city rooftops, right on the very edge of the dystopian Atlanta. Beth was standing on the edge, staring out into the vastness of the countryside beyond the city's border, when Edwards came and stood beside her. The light from the setting sun reflected in his glasses and gleamed a fierce, angry orange that didn't match up to his personality. It was like the sky was angry in his place, because he was incapable of being so himself. Angry for the blood that had been shed, an angry red sky.

 _Red sky at night_ _, s_ _hepherd's delight._

 _Red sky at dawning_ _, s_ _ailor's warning._

The sky had been red that morning, and blood of the innocents had been spilled. So maybe with the sky the colour of roses now . . . it was a good omen? They could do with a little delight right about now, after all they'd been through. Especially Beth, who craved the feel of a little delight, even in the simplest of forms. Like singing to a piano in a candlelit memorial room, orange lights from the candles flickering over the keys and painting them in a pale orange hue. Whilst Daryl laid with his head on a pillow in a coffin, _ironically comfortable_ he'd said, and asked her to play some more . . . and keep singing . . . So play and sing more she had, and the warmth that had settled in her stomach in that moment made her think that there could _still_ be those tiny forms of delight they all thought were gone.

"What now?" Edwards asked after a while, "Where do we go after this?"

Beth cocked her head to the side and kept her gaze fixed on the trees and fields on the horizon, painted dark red from the quickly descending sun.

"We keep walking," she answered, "That's all we can do. Just walk, hoping someday we reach something worthwhile . . . Because we will. Eventually."

"Is that what your group believed too?"

She bit her bottom lip and her brows furrowed in thought. "I don't know exactly . . . but I think so. We always kept going in the hope that we'd reach somewhere we could thrive. Where we could just _be_ . . ." she trailed, ". . . But I guess if you're out there for so long, and you lose every place you think could be that . . . you kinda lose sense of what the point is. But there _is_ a place like that. Somewhere. I believe that."

"You really believe there's something better than this?" he said quietly, his own gaze now directed on the horizon too. "Somewhere _safe_?"

"I guess it also depends on what you think safe is now. Because it sure as hell isn't sitting around letting wrong deeds go on inside the walls of places like Grady. Where you _think_ you feel safe under the illusion of being behind solid, supposedly unpenetrable walls . . . _t_ _hat_ isn't safe."

"Then what _is_ safe?"

"Safe is where you _want_ to be. With the people you want to be _with_. People you'll do anything to keep safe, and who'll do the same for you too. Now . . . safe is being with the people who'll fight for you because they care about you."

He was silent for a while, before piping up again.

"So . . . No debts owed?"

She looked at him, and for the first time, managed half of an actual smile.

"Yeah . . . No debts owed. Just real, genuine companionship. _That's_ safe, in my eyes."

" _Safe_. . ." He seemed to be mulling over her words as he stuffed the hand that wasn't holding the briefcase into his pocket and looked up at the deep orange sky. "Sounds nice. When this all started, I wish I'd started out with a group of people like that. It would've done me some good to toughen up and learn the meaning of that true companionship you're talking about . . . That kind of safe sounds good."

A full smile had spread out across her face now, and she turned her gaze up to the sky too, her loathing of his cowardice temporarily forgotten in that small moment.

"Yeah. It is good."

.

.

"No roamers around this part of the city, thank god," Shepherd smirked from their perch on a rooftop just on the edge of Atlanta.

They were staring down at a line of vehicles on one street, and picking out the ones that looked the least damaged or old—considering the fact that they probably hadn't been driven in years now. But Beth knew that simply _looking_ wasn't enough to be sure. They needed to get down there and _check_ them out first-hand to see if they worked. And maybe with the lack of walkers in this part of the city, the others would be more willing to do that.

"C'mon," she urged, "We gotta get down there to check them out."

Shepherd agreed with her on this one and nodded. "Follow my lead, people. We'll go down that fire escape and make our way towards the cars. Try to avoid gunfire and use your knives, if you can. We don't have enough to go around, so stick close to someone who has one."

Beth nearly smiled at that. The female cop was steadily picking up on what you had to do to stay alive in the world now, and that pleased her. If the others could do the same, they would have a decent chance of making it. They could get out, but get out _where_ , Beth didn't exactly know yet. She just wanted to find signs of her family . . . or what had happened to them, because there were no traces of them as they'd traveled over the rooftops.

As they went down the stairs one-by-one, Beth stopped Edwards before it was his turn to go down. He looked at her questioningly, and she handed him one of the larger knives they had picked up in the store, that Shepherd had given to her. He looked at it worryingly, brow furrowing and mouth twitching.

Beth held in a sigh.

She took his free hand and tucked the weapon into his free hand, and curled his fingers around the handle. He stared down at it and lifted it up and down, testing its weight. When he seemed satisfied that it wasn't too heavy or too daunting, he looked back and her and chewed his lip nervously.

"Don't hesitate, aim for the head, and stab as hard as you can. Some of their skulls are harder than others, so make sure you do it hard enough to get through to the brain. Don't pull it out until the thing stops moving, okay?"

"Yeah . . . ," he mumbled, his face having paled considerably all of a sudden, "I think I got it."

She nodded and motioned him down, following behind him closely with her gun. She wanted to avoid using it because of the noise, but if things went south it was good to have, so she held onto it. You could never be too careful in bad situations . . . Especially after her act of blind rage against Dawn which had almost resulted in the end of her life.

She was lucky to have survived, like Edwards had said, and Beth wasn't going to throw that luck away anytime soon.

They made their way down the building carefully, Tanaka wobbly on his feet due to blood loss and having to steady himself on the railing every now and then. Shepherd was the first to step foot onto the street and looked around for any signs of walker activity. Satisfied when she found none, she turned and motioned for the others to follow, and the trotted after over to the cluster of vehicles.

Shepherd made Tanaka lean against one of the cars that didn't work whilst she hurried around testing the rest. She left him with Edwards and made Effy and Beth help her. Beth opened one of the car doors and leaned inside, a dark sense of deja vu washing over her at the action of being inside a car again. She turned the key a few times and inwardly groaned as it refused to start, thinking of giving the body of the car a frustrated kick, only she decided she didn't want a broken foot.

The roar of an engine startled Beth and the others, and she looked up to see Effy having jumped back from one of the cars in surprise, as it pumped out smoke from the back and shook with power.

"It works!" Shepherd exclaimed, "Good job, Effy! See if there are any more that do too."

The next car Beth turned the key of sprung to life too, and more grey smoke erupted from the rear exhaust pipe. A grin spread across her features, and she nodded at Shepherd who was beaming back! It was a change to see the usually so solemn officer wearing a smile for a change! A smile suited her, making her features soft and showing how young she actually was. The world really did age people, but sometimes . . . Their true youth would shine through in a smile. Beth wasn't one to complain about things like that, because if there were still things left in the world that could make people smile . . . Then it was worth fighting for.

Edwards guided Tanaka to one of the working cars and helped him get into the back seat and sit comfortably. Shepherd placed Effy next to him as his primary carer in case of emergency and assigned herself as the driver of that cab.

"You and the Doc take the other one. We won't all fit in here, and it'll be good to have more than one working vehicle."

Beth resisted the urge to groan. This was going to be awkward. But there was no use complaining about it, because as long as they got out and far away from Atlanta, then things would be fine. So she'd just have to suck the awkwardness up for the time being.

She would manage. She had managed with _Daryl_ , hadn't she? And he was the awkwardest person on the whole damn planet! Yeah, she could manage . . .

So the tiny group got into their assigned vehicles and began the drive out of the city, passing several flurries of snarling walkers as they drove by. And as they drove away, with Edwards as the driver and Beth in the passenger seat, their car following Shepherd's . . . Beth looked back through the wing mirror at the wasteland that had once been a bustling city slowly vanishing on the horizon as they made their escape . . .

 _I'm gonna get out._

 _Just like Noah._

.

.

They hadn't been driving for long before Shepherd made them stopped by the lip of some kind of quarry just outside the borders of the city, and Edwards pulled in behind her.

Tanaka didn't seem to be doing so well so he apparently needed another shot from the case, of whatever that shot _contained_.

The officer was sat down and had arm stump extended. Edwards opened the briefcase again to reveal the tiny glistening containers, filled with ghostly blue, and gave him another injection in his shoulder. Beth watched once more as the eerie blue fluid was sucked into his body to do its work, whatever that work may be. She wished they would just tell her what the hell it was, surely she had a right to know since it was in her too.

Tanaka had to be left for the injection to settle for a while, so Shepherd turned to Beth.

"Beth, whilst we're waiting here, can you check out the quarry? There looks to be remains of some kind of camp down there. Who knows? There may still be some supplies left."

"Okay," she nodded, and grabbed Edwards's arm roughly, making him flinch. "But Edwards and Effy are coming too. I might need their help if anything bad happens."

The officer nodded in agreement then passed Beth her own knife.

"Take this to avoid drawing any rotters. Unless there are some down there already, and in that case, you know what to do anyway. Probably more so than us."

Beth took the knife and tucked it safely into her boot. She then tugged the skittish Edwards down the cliffside path, Effy following behind with muffled giggles at his squirming.

They made their way down the sloped path to the quarry below—a dip in the earth with no more than barren rock on one side stretching out to a small, murky green coloured lake. Beth led them over to the remains of where humans looked to have been once and stopped at a pile of empty cans. This, the scorched ground and burned down planks of wood where a fire had once been, and the various other forms of waste indicated that there had indeed been a camp set up here. But how long ago that was remained a mystery, though, from the looks of the weeds growing up from the scorched ground, it had to have been quite a long time ago . . .

"Look around for anything useful we can use," she said to Edwards and Effy, "Anything we can carry back with us that'll help in any way. Food,  
weapons . . . You get the picture."

She knelt down beside the pile of cans and dug around for any possible non-empty ones, just in case they had been tossed onto the pile too accidentally, and saw Edwards go over to a crumpled deck chair and run his thumb across the rusted metal.

He lowered to his knees and looked at the chair for a while, expression distant and melancholy.

"You okay?" she asked.

He smiled at the chair and chuckled quietly.

"It's nothing, really . . . Just, my daughter and I . . . We used to go to the beach on weekends. We had a chair just like this one."

He chuckled again and ran his fingers along the straw seat.

"Feels like decades ago now."

"I didn't know you had a daughter, Beth said softly, ". . . What happened to her?"

His face fell at that, and he stopped touching the chair.

"What happened to everyone else in the city. What happened to everyone _everywhere . . ._ "

 _I don't think the good ones survive._

"What was her name?" she whispered.

". . . Riley."

Beth smiled. "That's a nice name. You pick it or your wife?"

A tiny chuckle escaped him at that. A decent development. "My wife," he replied, "She always had the last word with things like that."

"Sounds just like my mom and dad."

He looked at her then, an actual smile on his face as he tilted his head to the side.

"Yeah?" he said, and an unexpected rush of affection washed over Beth at the sadness in his voice. "Must be a married thing."

Maybe . . . they weren't so different after all.

Even in spite of it all, the sacred case remained safely tucked underneath his right arm, never leaving his side, almost as if he were afraid to trust _anyone_ with it. Not even the former residents of Grady.

What could the liquid inside possibly contain that made it so precious?

She understood that medicine was hard to come by these days, but there was something very strange about this particular medicine of his . . .

It was weird. Eerie. And impossibly effective. It had been enough to help her successfully recover from a gunshot to the _head_. That was no ordinary medication, for sure. So it had to be _something_ _. . ._ Something more . . .

"What's in the case, Edwards?" she asked, finally surrendering to the temptation of her curiosity. "Really. What is it?"

He jolted at the question and looked over at her anxiously, his arm tightening on the case. Effy looked up from poking at the long burned out fire and regarded him too.

His expression was troubled. He seemed to be fighting some kind of inner battle . . . and losing, because he finally opened his mouth to answer the sacred question . . . The mystery that had been haunting Beth ever since she'd laid eyes on the damned stuff.

"It's a kind of serum . . ." he started, "We use it to treat people with . . . With infections from rotter bites."

Her entire body went rigid.

". . . What?"

Effy spoke up for him. "He means we use it as a kind of vaccine when someone's been bitten by one of those things. It stops them from turning—"

" _Most_ of the time," he corrected, "It isn't a guaranteed method of treatment, but it's been decently effective so far."

Beth was astounded at the news, and couldn't believe they'd kept it from her all this time.

"Wait . . . You mean you've had something like this all this time . . . And you kept it _quiet_ _?_ "

"Of course! Could you imagine the mania we'd get from outsiders if they knew we had something like this?"

" _Mania_? You can save their _lives_!"

Beth stood up.

This was unbelievable.

"Don't you understand what you have?" she snapped, "You have an _answer_! An answer to it all! The walkers, the death . . . Everythin' that's gone wrong with the world, you can fix! And you're worried about a little _trouble_ from outsiders? Open your eyes! You've got the key to everything!"

"It's limited!" he blurted.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. All she could manage in her distraught shocked state was another, slightly more choked, " _What_?"

"We only had a limited supply of it," he stuttered, "We only had what's left in this case . . . The people who knew how to make it died at the beginning of the turn. We were using it on our patients, trying to cure our own first . . . This is all that's left."

Beth's tongue felt ten times thicker.

"And no one else knows how to make more?"

He shook his head. "No. All they left was the formula, but we have none of the things needed to recreate it! Not to mention even a workspace! Not _anymore_ _,_ at least . . ."

She felt a sudden urge to punch the ground. _Damn it!_ Right when it had seemed there could be a way out of it all . . . came the catch. There was always a catch. And now they were all the way back to square one.

If there was no one left to make more of the stuff, and nowhere to even make it . . . then it really was hopeless. Totally, utterly forlorn . . .

It wasn't Edwards's fault, but Beth really just wanted someone to blame in that moment. She bet that other doctor he'd made her kill had had something to do with it. Trevitt. Edwards may be a pathetic coward who ran like a rabbit in a crisis . . . but he was sly as the fox when it came to his own survival.

"So, how does it work?" she asked, "The serum . . . How does it stop someone from turning?"

"Well . . ." He scratched the back of his head. "The mixture is made up of particles extracted from the virus _itself,_ like a flu jab really. We take those killer particles from the illness, and they familiarise the body with the virus, helping it develop a natural immunity to it. The injected particles then act as antibodies and target foreign, dangerous cells that enter the body—in this case, the infection you get when you're bitten—and _fight_ it. That's it simplified, at least."

"I think I understood _some_ of that," Effy remarked, brows lifted.

"That's as basic as it goes," he shrugged, "Just think of it as a normal jab you would have, only this one is for rotters."

Beth stared down at her hands, the burning she sometimes felt in her flesh coming to mind. "And that's what's inside of me?" she asked, "My body can _fight_ the virus?"

"Well . . . yeah. Yeah, it can."

"Awesome . . ." Effy breathed.

"And how much is left?" Beth asked, balling her fists in anticipation.

"We actually used a considerable amount of it on _you_ when you came back. You would've died from the head-shot and turned, since we all carry the virus anyway."

"You _know_ that? That you turn no matter what?"

"Beth." He pushed his glasses up his nose. "I'm a doctor. A _scientist_. I've done my research and experimenting on the subject. Of course, I would know something like that."

"Hold on a second," Effy waved her arms, "What do you mean, we _all_ carry it anyway? How can we all carry it even if we've not been bitten? I thought that's how it was transmitted? Through the bite."

Edwards kept fiddling with his glasses. "I don't know how we're all infected, but we are. My guess is that it's probably transmitted through the air, like some other diseases. Regardless of a bite, we're all infected. The bite _is_ fatal, yes, but no matter how you die—"

"You still come back as one of them." Beth finished, her eyes having turned solemn and her voice dropping a tenor or two. "Unless the brain is destroyed. _Then_ you die . . . You didn't know?"

Effy shook her head.

"Information like that is classified." Edwards shrugged.

Beth rolled her eyes at that.

" _Really_? People deserve to know. It links to their own well-being, their _lives_ _. . ._ but you just stop at _classified_?"

"It wasn't my rule. Hanson . . ."

"He's the guy who ran the place before Dawn right? The one she killed?"

"Yeah."

Effy smiled sadly. "Hanson was good . . . He kept the officers in their place . . . Kept _Gorman_ in his place . . ."

Beth's eyes widened and she passed a frantic glance at Effy, who was fiddling with her hands and staring at the ground, eyes dull and hooded.

 _No_ _._ Beth thought in despair.

 _Not you too._

Not another that Gorman had tainted with his evil.

First Joan, and now Effy, and very nearly _her_.

Any slither of guilt she'd felt for smashing that jar on the back of his head faded away. He'd _deserved_ the sinking of Joan's jaws into his neck as she tore him apart, surrounded by shattered glass and scattered candy. It was the first time Beth had found solace in a kill, and something told her it wouldn't be the last.

Men like Gorman didn't deserve to breathe the same air as people like Effy. He _wasn't_ good. Maybe the good didn't survive, like Daryl had said, but Beth would make sure that the _bad_ would go long before they did. Because all those hopeful faces they'd lost along the way to where they were now. T-Dog, Lori, her _daddy_ _. . ._ _They_ were the ones who had deserved to make it, not most of the ones who were still left now. The world may not be fair with the way it chose who was to survive its vast torture . . . but Beth sure as hell wasn't going to let it take any more of those people without a fight.

She'd won one round against it, something no one she knew had done before, and she hoped that was taken a warning from her

Beth Greene was coming for the world, and she was going to make sure that it burned.

Through that mental deceleration of war, it was then that she dug something out from the pile of empty cans that struck a chord within her heart . . . An uncannily familiar item that hit so impossibly close to home . . . Close to _him_ _. . ._

A green and white tipped arrow bolt.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

I wonder who's that bolt could be? Hmm... Also, did you pick up on the quarry they were in being the same on from the first season? Yep, it's Atlanta camp! *cries because misses Lori and Dale and everyone*. I hope you enjoyed this installment and hopefully the explanation of the serum was sufficient (for now). I'll be going into that later so don't forget! It may not be a full cure, no, but it's a lot closer than what they've had so far. If only they can find a way to make more...

Anyways review review review~ It'll make my day!  
~Happy


	7. Towards something better

**RUNNING BLIND**

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.

Beth held the bolt in her hand, her fingers stroking the length of its smooth black body.

She couldn't stop her mind from instantly shooting to the person that wielded a weapon that fired arrows just like these.

Nostalgia flooded her system as she ran her fingers along it, the memory of loading ones parallel to it into Daryl's bow, holding the weapon out in front of her as he taught her how to use it. It felt like years ago, and Beth had almost forgotten what the bolts had felt like between her fingers. Smooth, cold, polished wood, small but powerful, with fine cracks traveling along the length of them from overuse.

This bolt was _exactly_ the same, even down to the flared green and white sails at the top, which enabled its flight upon launch.

"Woah! That's such a cool find!" Effy had bounded over and was now crouched beside her, admiring the fancy arrow, her eyes filled with fascination.

Edwards came over from his perch by the crumpled deck-chair and lowered his glasses to properly look at what Beth had in her hands.

"Would you look at that?" he beamed upon close inspection, "A _quarrel_ _._ Or _bolt_ _,_ if you'd prefer. Typically intended to be used in a trigger-rigged crossbow. Is there one of _those_ lying around here too? Because I bet that would be useful to have."

"How is it that you know so much about weapons, Doc?" Effy frowned with a raise of one of her brows.

He shrugged, twisting his fingers together.

"Riley was really into those violent video games . . ."

Effy smiled. "Was she? Cool. My . . . My little sister liked those kinds of games too. I never really understood the appeal though."

"Yeah, me neither . . . Though I guess it would've been helpful to know a little more about stuff like that, considering the way the world is now."

"Yeah, I guess . . ."

Edwards and Effy's chatter faded from Beth's vision, and the bolt in her hand became the only thing she was aware of in that moment.

The only thing that mattered.

She curled her fingers around it and brought it up close her chest, her other hand coming up too and covering the hand that held the weapon. Holding it close . . . close to her heart. Because that's where _he_ was. He and the rest of them. Where they would _always_ be. And despite the distance, and not knowing where any of them were, Beth knew that she would still find them.

Because she'd asked for a sign.

And this was it.

This tiny, insignificant, material thing, was the sign that was going to give her the strength to find them. And that was all the proof Beth needed that she and he would meet again . . . and finish their conversation from that night. It was silly that she still clung to that, even now. Silly that she clung to something so small, but at the same time so very massive.

 _What changed your mind?_

He had given her no answer, nor had he had the chance to since. Perhaps he could have had that chance if she hadn't gone and pulled the scissors on Dawn, after the exchange when he would have the chance to talk with her again . . . Perhaps then he could have had the chance to answer that lingering question . . . Because Beth _needed_ the answer to it, in word form, or she might just go crazy. She needed to know that what she'd seen burning away in his eyes from next to her at that table hadn't simply been her imagination or just a side effect of the thundering beat of her heart from the intimacy of their close companionship. Or, what she at least _thought_ was companionship. Because that look in his eyes had made her think, that maybe . . . _she'd_ had something to do with his sudden change in perspective. That _she'd_ been a part of what had made him see differently, and maybe something _more_ too that she just couldn't yet fully comprehend . . .

 _What was the answer, Daryl?_ her mind screamed. _What were you trying to say with your eyes that you couldn't with words?_

What was going on in his head? Oh, she craved to know. She wanted to know the thoughts that were paired up with the intense warmth in his eyes. Wanted to know why the answer to a simple question had been so stuck on his tongue, but blazing away in his eyes along with the answers to questions she hadn't even asked. A blaze that raged whenever he looked at her, which she was sure, in that especially tense moment, that her eyes had blazed back the depth of her own feelings too.

Whatever those feelings were.

 _Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes._

 _No_ _. . ._ _You can't depend on anybody for anything, right?_

She'd mocked his deceleration during their game of 'I Never' when he'd said that. And even after saying that, he'd then gone and asked _her_ to do something for him, asked her just to remind him that he had escaped his past, just _remind_ him every now and again . . . It was so simple, so small, but Beth had been too entranced by the hypnotics of the moonshine and his whispers to her in the dark that she'd failed to fully hear his tiny request. Failed to properly hear the tiny cry of a little boy behind that strong, harsh mask that was Daryl's version of . . . _I need you_.

 _I haven't relied on anyone for anything before, never been able t_ _o._ _But I want to rely on_ you.

 _Let me rely on you. Let me need you._

It had taken just a little too long to realise that, yes, Daryl _needed_ her, but it was upon waking in that hospital for the first time alone, confused, and without him . . . that she realised she needed him too. Needed his strength, his presence, his reassurance.

Just _him_.

Beth needed that. She needed him. More, she realised, that she'd needed anything ever before. And that frightened her, it frightened her so _much_ _. . ._ But also thrilled her to no end. Fed the flames burning inside of her and sparked the fight, something he'd always been able to do to her— _feed her fire_. And it was because of that that Beth knew he wasn't the only one that had undergone a change because of their time together.

She had always had a bit of a soft spot for the brazen redneck, back from the days of their harsh winter on the road before they found the prison, but somehow, and obviously without meaning to, Daryl had let his shield of steel down for just a few seconds, which was just enough time for her to see the scared little boy hiding behind it.

And then she had known that she was never going to leave him.

Because while he may be their group's fighter, warrior, and literal protector . . . Beth had seen then that he needed protecting just as much as they did.

 _I'm not gonna leave you._

 _Not ever._

"We've gathered enough. We're leaving." she coughed and rose. She nodded down to her companions, who also nodded and then followed her back up the rocky path.

.

.

Effy had scavenged a map during their foraging. A pretty lucky find, really. They had laid it out across a tree stump and were gathered around it, debating their next course of action.

It was good to have a plan. Plans kept you moving, and these people needed something to keep them moving.

"So where do we go?" Shepherd mused as she regarded the area surrounding Atlanta carefully. "You've been out here before, Beth. You're obviously way more adapted than we are. So what do _you_ say we do?"

Oh.

Beth was stumped.

She'd never had a say in things like this with her original group. She'd been the child, the one that needed protecting, sheltering, but now . . . now _she_ was the one in power, and she needed to use that power right. To _save_ them. Because she might be youngest out of the lot of them, but she was the only one that could ensure their survival out here.

She thought she could handle that much.

"I say we go east," she said, pointing to the eastern coast of Georgia, "Stick close to the water. _They_ don't like water, it slows them down and they can't cross it. If we stay by it, we'll only have one side to worry about them coming from."

"Okay. _Then_ where do we go?"

Beth looked at the map for a while, her thumb tracing her lower lip as she considered their options.

Where to go . . . Where to make their destination . . . Those were the questions on her mind, but deep down Beth knew they all translated down to just one booming question . . .

 _Where would the others go?_

Where were they most likely to have gone after carrying what they thought was her lifeless body out onto the streets of Atlanta's Slabtown. What would have been their next move? . . .

And then she remembered.

 _Noah._

They were likely to have Noah with them, which she'd speculated earlier. And after a talk with Edwards, that speculation had been confirmed. Noah had left with them, and Beth did have an idea of where _he_ would go . . .

"Richmond. Virginia. We go east to the ocean, then travel up on the coastal route to avoid as many walkers we can."

"Why Virginia?" Tanaka asked out of curiosity. That curiosity wasn't misplaced. All the way up in Virginia _did_ seem like a pretty random destination to those that didn't know Noah.

"Noah . . ." she began the explanation, "His family lived in Richmond. He said they'd built walls to try to keep the place safe from the dead, to protect them. Now I know I said that having walls doesn't always equal safety, but that's the first place Noah and my group would go. Because it's _something_. And having somethin' is a lot better than having nothing at all. It's another day with a chance, a chance to make it to something better. Because this, now, this isn't _it_ _. . ._ Dawn knew _that_ much. She was right in that sense, but she had the wrong impression. No one's coming to save us . . . but that doesn't mean we can't go out and find help ourselves. We could even _be_ somebody else's help if we wanted to. Because if everybody sat around hoping for someone to charge in and rescue them, well, no one would be getting saved. There have to be people willing to _do_ the saving."

Effy's eyes were wide and filled with wonder as Beth spoke, the green orbs glistening in awe at her words. She was getting through to them, _finally_.

They could be talked into trying.

"There's something better, and we can find it, _all_ of us . . . We just have to try."

They all nodded in agreement, and Shepherd flashed Beth another one of her rare smiles.

"All right, then it's settled. Virginia it is."

So they drove, onward towards their newly acquired something.

Towards something better.

The vehicle positions were switched this time, Edwards and Beth's car in the lead with the map so that Shepherd's car could follow.

They drove in silence for a while, the doctor's gaze fixed on the long road ahead, and Beth's nose buried in the huge map she had spread over the dashboard.

After a while, he spoke up.

"What's the closest area of civilisation on our path then, Miss Greene?" he asked, "We could do with getting a few more supplies before making the journey north."

"Well, based on the direction we're going in . . . I'd say Savannah. Though I think after what we just went through it might be best to avoid big cities like that. We're not doing too badly for supplies, it's only really food really that's low, and we can ration that."

" _Savannah_? Really? That's great!"

She looked up from the map at him. "Why is that great?"

"It's just . . . I have relatives down there," he mumbled, "My family and I used to go down there every summer. Back before things went . . . Yeah."

She gave him a half smile, her mind tracing back to her own family road trips.

She usually tried to block them out.

"Yeah?" she parroted, "Think they're still ali—still _there_?" She corrected herself before she suggested they might be dead. The last thing he needed was a harsh probability like that. He'd lost his wife and daughter already. He needed some hope left to cling to.

They all did.

He shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know . . . I _hope_ so. They were the type of people who stood their ground in a crisis, so I doubt they would have moved from their home if they had a say in the matter . . . If they're still _alive_ _. . ._ they'll probably still be there."

She nodded slowly, ". . . Okay. Let's go to Savannah. It's by the ocean so it's on our path anyway. And like you said, we need the supplies."

Edwards flashed her one of his grateful smiles and she found her mouth curving against her control.

 _Stop it_ , she lectured herself. _Remember what he did to you._

 _What he_ made _you do._

She turned away from him and busied herself with studying the map.

The road was long to the ocean and it was almost nightfall now. They could use the cover of darkness, as long as they prayed that they didn't hit any walkers—or people—along the way. And fate had been kind to Beth so far, so she closed her eyes and leaned back in the car seat with a ghost of a smile.

.

.

Nightmares were just a part of what it meant to be human, and everybody got them . . . but that didn't make them any less frightening, even in a world like the one they lived in now.

One of the things about nightmares now was that they were so real and vivid because of the horrors they'd seen, that they seemed more real than they had before . _. ._

Blood spurting from open wounds that had been torn by monsters. The people you loved being ripped apart right in front of you, and there was nothing you could do.

That was the worst of it, the _helplessness_ , because it was the closest thing to reality now, how you were helpless in situations like that. Beth had been helpless when Patricia had been grabbed, unable to pull her out of the walkers' grasp. Unable to _save_ her. She'd been helpless to stop the farm from being overrun, and the prison. Helpless to stop _herself_ from being taken and held captive. Unable to stop any of the awful things going on inside . . . And helpless to keep her own life, having nearly been blown to oblivion. All because of one stupid decision based on rage.

It was true what she had heard Merle spouting one time in the prison, about how compassion would be their downfall.

He was right.

Compassion had nearly been hers.

She had been helpless to stop the bullet firing out and sailing into her head, sending her instantly into an unconscious state of near-death . . .

"Beth!"

Beth awoke with a jump, hitting her head on the roof of the car and a string of swear words falling from her lips as she cradled the crown of her head, which must have been made of steel to endure the abuse it had lately.

Edwards glanced her a look of worry from the driving seat as she groaned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yeah . . . Yeah. I'm fine," she mumbled, giving her head one last rub before she readjusted the bandage. She tugged out the hair ties that were holding her hair in pigtails and shook out her hair so that it cascaded down her shoulders and chest in wild, untamed waves.

". . . Have you been driving all night?" she asked finally, noticing that the midday sun was up high in the sky.

"All night and most of today too. We stopped earlier for a break, so I slept a bit then. You've been out longer than you think, you know."

"That long, huh? Where exactly are we now?"

He gripped the wheel and smiled faintly, "You'll see in a few minutes . . . I _think_."

She blinked, then turned her gaze to the road ahead, and as they came up over a hill, she understood what he was talking about.

Tall, grey buildings, taken over by greenery that snaked up the tall skyscrapers steadily came into view. A city fitting of the title of _apocalyptic_. Barren, desolate, bleak, and every other word that Beth's language teacher had said meant deserted. And just beyond that, sat the ocean _._ Clear blue waters glistening in the harsh sunlight, heat sweltering in a haze above the water's surface.

The city of Savannah. They were almost there.

"What do you think we're gonna find down there?" he asked as she took in the landscape.

". . . I don't know. You can never be sure anymore. We'll just have to wait and find out."

A farm with its barn filled with the undead . . . A town governed by a murderous sociopath that was secretly training his troops for war . . . A prison which had ironically turned out to be the safest of the lot . . . And a so-called sanctuary which Carol, in her waking moments back at Grady, had revealed was actually a home to viscous cannibals.

Beth wasn't sure there was anything left that could surprise her after all of that.

.

.

Savannah was quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Beth walked down an empty street on the city's outskirts with the others, red axe she'd found in the trunk of the car gripped tightly in her hands. It had been an excellent idea to check the trunks on Effy's part, actually, as they had found many useful things. Weapons, a little more water, along with as a lot of alcohol, and some clothes. One of them was a peach coloured plaid shirt that Beth was now wearing over her thin blood-stained vest. It was kind of ugly and smelly, but it served as an extra layer for a walker to chomp on, so she wasn't going to complain about it. Edwards had also finally removed his lab coat and used it for extra wrappings for Tanaka's arm stump. And Shepherd had called dibs on a grey woolly beanie they'd found too, insisting that she had a weakness for the things.

But still no luck on food. So a quick sweep of the city was kind of necessary anyway.

Beth tossed her unbound hair over her shoulder and glanced down at the tip of the bolt that was poking out of her boot. It was the best place she had for it at the moment, as she wasn't about to give it up. Crossbow or not, it was still useful to have something sharp to use against enemies. Plus, it reminded her of what she was trying to get to . . . And of _who_.

She definitely wasn't going to pass the bolt up and just leave it. It was all she had to serve as a reminder for now. A reminder of the people she was working towards, who she _would_ find . . . Because they were absolutely still alive somewhere.

"How much further?" Shepherd yelled to Edwards from down the street.

" _Shh_!" Beth hissed, bringing a finger to her lips. "Not so loud. We don't know what's around each corner. For all we know, there could be another huge herd like in Atlanta. Sound draws them remember?"

"Right. Sorry . . . How much further, Doc?" she repeated in a quieter tone.

 _Much better_ , Beth thought to herself. It was best to imagine there was danger lurking around every corner they came across. That way they would never be caught off guard.

"It's just a couple of blocks down this way to where they live . . . ," Edwards answered, "Or _lived_ , if they're even still there."

He strode down the street next to Beth, the sacred briefcase now tucked into an old blue backpack they'd also found in one of the trunks, strapped securely onto his back. He looked after it like it was the most precious thing in the world, and quite frankly, it _was_ _._

It was the best hope they had of salvaging the world back from the dead.

Beth peeked a look at him from the corner of her eye and felt a pang of concern creeping into her as they edged closer and closer towards their goal. Though he seemed pretty positive about it, she couldn't help the pessimistic thought that crept into her head.

 _W_ _hat if they weren't there?_

It had been almost two years since the outbreak, and Edwards had been holed up in a hospital all that time. Most of the cities had been deemed dead, and so far Savannah looked to be just that _._ Devoid of people and any _other_ forms of life. It was highly unlikely that anyone was still here after all this time. Though _alive_ , Edwards's family very well could be, it was unlikely that they were _here_ like he thought.

"How are you, Mr. Tanaka?" Effy asked as she walked with his remaining arm draped across her shoulder, him limping along beside her.

"Not bad, considering my . . . predicament . . . but thanks for asking."

"We can stop if you need to?" she suggested, but he shook his head.

"No, no. I'm fine. And like the Doc said, we aren't far now anyway. There'll be a time for rest as soon as we get to where we need to be."

Shepherd brushed her arm against his as she walked past, and gave his shoulder a pat. "You hang in there, soldier. You're gonna make it."

Then she walked ahead so that she was in line with Beth and Edwards, and looked down at the headstrong blonde with scars marring her face.

"What about you?" she asked her, "You feeling okay?"

Beth nodded, "Yeah. I feel fine."

" _You_ had a decent amount of sleep," Edwards said, "Of course you're going to feel perfectly refreshed."

Beth's lips curled up into a smirk of her own but then she narrowed her eyes.

She still hadn't forgiven him for what he'd done.

Shepherd turned to Edwards. "Actually, I was referring to her medical condition . . . You know . . . The _thing_."

"I know what you're talking about," Beth said, her eyes shifting to the female officer, who stared back with wide eyes that were filled with confusion.

"I told her," Edwards clarified with an awkward shrug, lacking pockets to shove his hands into like he would normally. "It seemed a little pointless, keeping secrets now . . . Like she said, we are a team."

 _A team_ _. . ._

Yes. She supposed that was what they were. A team. And being a part of a team required trust, courage, and loyalty. So far they lacked the full set, but they were getting there. They _would_ get there.

Shepherd was quiet for a while, before nodding. "Yeah . . . I suppose that's true."

"I'm not mad that you didn't tell me." Beth felt the need to say, "I know you were just doing your job. But all I was saying is that job holds no _purpose_ in this world anymore. The rules have changed. It's not what you were that matters anymore, it's what you are _now_."

 _You gotta say who you_ are.

 _Not who you_ were _._

"I know . . . It's just a lot to take in, is all."

"You'll be okay. You're tough. You know what needs doing and you get it done. You can _make it_." She smiled. "We all can. _Together_."

Shepherd smiled then, an honest, genuine smile that caught Beth by surprise.

". . . I can see why your group were so hellbent on getting you back," she said, "Why they were so willing to kidnap and use us as hostages as a means of saving you and your friend, Carol. They were willing to do anything to get you back, storm the perimeter and kill everyone if they could. They would have done anything to stop what happened in that hallway . . . But they couldn't. And I saw the heartbreak and anger in their faces when they lost you . . . You're a valuable asset, Beth. You know your morals and you stick to them. That's something a lot of people struggle to do now. I know I'm rambling but what I'm trying to say is . . . I get why they did it. Why they went to such extremes just to get you back. You're worth the effort."

 _Worth the effort._

Beth was taken aback. She hadn't expected such words from the female cop, and quite frankly she was touched. As well as very, very shocked.

Beth had never really viewed herself as what could be called a _valuable asset_ to the group. She had always been the baby, the luggage that needed caring for. She'd never seen herself as part of the _power_ that helped drive the group, that gave them something in return for their protection. Sure, she had always tried to stay hopeful and courageous for them, to _be_ like them, but she'd never really seen it as giving something back.

But she was worth something . . . Something that was worth saving . . . Even if it meant going to vast extremes to do so.

The others had seen something in her that was worth saving, and they had worked towards getting it done. She had something to give them. She wasn't just extra baggage. There was something inside of her that they'd seen, and fought to get back because they'd _wanted_ it. They had seen something in her that she couldn't, and she wondered what that was. And she thought that maybe the answer to that had been hidden in Daryl's eyes when he'd looked at her that night. Shining away and showing her that she _was_ worth something, that she wasn't just another dead weight they were carrying.

 _Not just another dead girl._

She held value, and they needed her. So she would get back to them for that, because she needed them too.

Because _they_ were worth the effort.

" _Thank_ you, Shepherd . . ." she said softly, and her face lit up with the most genuine smile she'd given in a long time. Like the ones she would give before she'd first wound up in that hellish hospital, back when it had been clear that there were still decent human beings left in the world.

Like the people who were now her _family_ _._ People who would die for each other in a heartbeat, who laughed and played games together, even at the end of the world. Who found comfort and refuge in each others' presence. _Good people_ _. . ._ Good people came in various forms, Beth realised in that moment. And though the former residents of Grady seemed nothing but cowardly and traitorous at first, the complete opposite of the people she'd grown to love because of the turn . . . Beth saw that there was good in them _too._

Even in Edwards, somewhere.

It was just tucked further down underneath that tough exterior they put up to hide their fear, and only needed to be brought out.

Just like with Daryl.

So she smiled, a smile that shone with the belief that humanity wasn't all bad.

 _We aren't too far gone_ , Rick had said to earn that one last smile from her father, and Beth chose to believe those words that had brought out her daddy's final look of pride and accomplishment . . .

They weren't too far gone.

They weren't.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

*whispers* Review... Please... Even just an anonymous, _one word_ review. It really means the world to me whenever you do, I honestly love and appreciate each and every one of you. Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying it. And once again, (in case it wasn't clear enough begging the first time) _review_...

~DirtyCookiie


	8. Hidden by a cloak of orange

**Author's Corner**

Game character in this chapter that any of you who played Telltale's game version of TWD will recognize. They are in Savannah after all... That's the only clue you'll get. Again, thank you for all the lovely reviews and support you've given! I appreciate and love you all so much! So without further ado, the next chapter, also now available on (link in profile).

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

There would someday come a day that Beth Greene's words didn't become like a prophecy come true, and she would just be plain wrong about things for a change. Why she had to be right about everything was cruel and unfair. Like how all she'd told Daryl had come true – the harsh reality of her being gone someday, and how she undoubtedly was just to him and the others now. Just another of their own that was dead. Of _course_ , she had known those words to be true, but deep down she had still wished that maybe . . . they didn't have to be. That maybe, for a change, things could be okay.

But things _weren't_ okay at this exact moment, as Beth the small Grady group ran through the deserted streets of Savannah . . . With a gigantic herd of hungry walkers right on their tail. Just as she'd said, it seemed there _was_ danger and death lurking around every corner, and Beth found herself thinking that she should stop jinxing shit in the future.

"What'do we do!?" Shepherd yelled over the snarls screeching from behind, jogging beside Beth.

"Edwards!" she shouted to the fleeing rabbit up ahead, "How much further?"

"Just around this corner!" he bellowed back, voice laced with obvious panic. When the going got tough, he sure did get going . . . In the opposite direction from the trouble.

Effy hauled the limping Tanaka along, Shepherd falling back to help, and raising her gun to fire.

" _No_!" Beth shrieked, stopping her before the trigger was pulled. "Not gunfire! The sound draws them!"

"Well sorry to break it to you, but they're kinda _already_ drawn!" Tanaka remarked in pain.

Beth frowned. That may be true, but more noise would draw way more over! And that was the last thing they needed right now.

She fell behind Tanaka and his helpers and ran at an approaching walker, and sliced the top of its head off with her axe, blood spurting across from where she swung and coating the cast on her wrist in a fine shade of red. Edwards' frightened squeal from the front drew her attention, and she whipped her head around to where he was stood petrified with his mouth hanging open. There was another cluster of walkers around the corner where his relatives were supposed to live, and there was _no_ chance of getting through them. _Oh shit!_ They now had walkers on both sides, and no other way out!

She pushed the others down an alleyway nearby and pulled the paralyzed doctor along with her, millions of hungry jaws snapping after them as they went.

 _There's always a way out_ , she muttered under her breath as she tugged Edwards along after Tanaka, Effy, and Shepherd. Sometimes these alleys led out into other streets, which hopefully wouldn't be filled with the dead too.

But fate must have turned and been working against her now, as more decayed bodies became visible from the street the alley led out into. No chance they were getting out that way.

"We're cornered!" Edwards squeaked, shoulders shaking visibly and his breathing exhilarating like Effy's.

"Calm down!" Shepherd snapped as she gave her empty gun a shake, "How much ammo you got Beth?"

Beth looked down at her equally empty handgun in her boot and shook her head. Shepherd frowned and tightened her grip on Tanaka's shoulder. She spat a string of swear words under her breath and looked around frantically.

"Wh-what now?" Effy breathed out in fright, shaking against Tanaka.

Edwards pulled his hand out of Beth's and planted both of them on top of his head. "We're gonna die!" he cried in despair, "This is it . . . ! We're gonna . . . We're-"

Before Beth knew what she was doing, she slapped him hard across the face, nearly knocking his chipped glasses off his face at the impact. The others seemed shocked at the action, but Beth only glared at him as he brought a hand to touch the stinging cheek she had struck.

"We're not gonna die!" she snarled, "We'll get out! Have some _faith_!"

"But ha-how? We're surrounded . . ." Effy half sobbed.

Beth's head shot up to the metal fire escape platforms above their heads, and she gasped in sudden realization. _There's always a way out._

"Climb onto the bins and up to those balconies!" she ordered, hands clasping the axe in her hands at the sight of walkers down the alley that had followed them. " _NOW_!" she screeched.

Edwards was the first up (naturally) and helped haul Tanaka up, and then Effy. Beth thrust the axe into more walkers' heads as they made their way up onto the metal railings steadily. Shepherd took out her knife and stabbed one that came close. She glanced at Beth as if telling her to go, but Beth shot her a glare in response. No way was Beth going to let another get pulled out of her grasp like what happened with Franco . . . _She_ would go last this time because she trusted _herself_ to get out of it.

Seemingly understanding what that glare meant, Shepherd plunged the knife into another one's head before leaping up onto the bin and taking Edwards' hand to help haul herself up. Once up, she shrieked down and held out her hand for Beth to take . . .

But Beth knew it wasn't going to work.

The walkers were coming in too fast, and to go that way would be suicide . . . And Beth was done with _that_. She had to try something else . . . There had to be something else . . . What would Rick and the others do in a situation like this? They always knew what to do . . . What would Daryl tell her to do?

"The serum!" she said suddenly, taking out several more that came at her, "It sets in and prevents infection right?"

"Well yeah, usually, but we don't know for _certain_!" Edwards answered back . . . And then it dawned on him what she was planning to do. He pressed his hands onto the railing and looked down at her with pleading eyes.

"Beth! No! _Please_ , don't!" he shouted down.

Beth looked up at him and smiled, wiping the blood from her cheek with her cast. "It's okay. Because like you said, I probably have more liquid than what's in your _case_ inside of me."

Shepherd realized then too and joined in the protest. "Don't do it! You'll be ripped apart!"

But Beth's grin only grew. "I won't . . . I won't let that happen." _I don't want to be gutted._ "Go up across the rooftops to the harbour! I'll meet you there!"

"Beth!" Effy cried, eyes shining with thick tears, and Beth smiled at her.

She then picked up one of the walker bodies she had dispatched and held it up in front of her as a kind of shield, and ran forward into the crowd of walkers . . . An act of true _madness_. Maybe she was mad, maybe that's what a bullet to the head did to a person. But if there was one thing that Beth knew in that moment, it was that she wasn't going to go down there . . . _I won't be gutted._

Beth used the limp torso held in front of her to knock snarling live ones out of the way and block their jaws from sinking into her flesh. She held the axe with her other hand and slashed any that came at her from behind or the sides. _So far so good_ , she was out on the street now. If she could just get out of reach from this herd . . . She would be home free.

She dropped the walker she had used as a scapegoat and darted out onto a walker-less plain of road. She ran into the closest store she saw, a hiker's equipment shop, and slammed the door shut behind her. A pile of boxed tents and waterproof coats served as decent door barricade for temporary use, and Beth turned to run further in . . . Before her foot collided with something, and she tripped and fell head-first onto the hard ground. There was a walker stuck to the seat behind the desk, and it had grabbed her ankle as she passed, pulling her over.

She reached for the axe that had fallen along with her, but it was just out of her grasp. She stretched as far as she could, fingers just brushing its red handle, and the walker fell out of the chair and onto the floor with her. It crawled on top of her, jaws pressing dangerously close to her, and Beth thrashed trying to kick it off, accidentally knocking the axe even further out of grasp. _Fuck_ , this wasn't good! True, a walker bite would have a reduced chance of killing her because of the anti-virus in her system, but that wasn't a _given_. You couldn't afford to take chances anymore, and Beth especially was done with doing that after what she'd been through.

The walker growled viscously on top of her, teeth snapping as it tried to sink them into her. Beth's muscles were sore from holding it away at arm's length, and she whined in fear of being devoured. A bite was one thing, but this one would definitely finish _all_ of her if it could. _If it could._

She grunted and jabbed her fingers hard into the walker's eyes, blood and gore spouting out down onto her face and hair, and the thing snarled in pain and rage; if they could feel emotions that is. Beth shoved her fingers even further into its eye-sockets and pushed it with all her might, the rotted flesh at its neck slowly tearing under the pressure of her assault. Another firm jab in the eyes tore its head right off, and Beth threw it at the wall powerfully, debris flying out as it collided and _splattered_ against the wall's natural canvas-like quality.

Beth crawled backward from the headless creature and sat up. She pushed the remains off of her, breathing extremely heavy and arms aching from holding it off so long. She wiped sweat from her brow with her sleeve, smearing more blood across her face in the process, and reached out and gripped the side of the desk, dragging herself up. Hair fell into her face, locks stained with blood, sweat, and dirt. She tucked it behind her ears and breathed out in relief.

And as she reached down for the axe, she jumped in fright and yelped at the _figure_ that stood in the room with her.

The stranger wore a bright orange jacket with the hood up, and held a considerably large pickaxe. Under closer inspection, Beth also saw that the stranger was female, face just visible from beneath the hood, and several short blonde strands of hair poking out. The stranger regarded her carefully, head tilting to the side as she took in the girl before her too.

Beth imagined that she must look quite a sight now, face covered in gore and hair drenched with black blood from the walker she'd just taken down. She felt the throbbing pain returning to her head and she shifted the dirty bandage covering the wound there, securing it in place.

". . . Who . . . are you . . . ?" Beth asked finally through bated breath.

". . . I was about to ask you the same question." the stranger replied after a moment's silence.

Bashing against the barricade at the door cut the introductions short, however, and the unknown female gave Beth a glance before she went to make her leave through the back."

"Wait!" Beth called, picking up her axe and hurrying after the mystery woman.

Once out through the back fire escape that led onto the roof, the woman stopped and whipped around to face Beth. She held her pickaxe to Beth's throat, and Beth swallowed and went still, breathing still laboured and sweat dripping down her face along with the blood.

" _Quiet_ ," she hissed, "Don't talk unless I say."

Beth's lips sealed shut, and her fingers twitched on the handle of her own weapon. She would play along with whatever this woman wanted at first, but if things went out of hand . . . Beth wasn't afraid to stand her ground and fight back. She was so done with playing the role of the sheep . . . She had grown into a _lion_ , unafraid to tear anyone who opposed her's throat out. Before, that thought would have greatly disturbed her, but not now. Fear for something like that no longer had any place in Beth's mind. Because what had once been a fear, had become her strength.

 _I wish I could just change._

 _You did._

The stranger went on, "I don't know who you are, and to be honest I don't really give a shit . . . But I'm _not_ gonna let you draw a bunch of them on us with your noise or any silly struggling 'cause you're _scared_ or some shit."

 _You're not a fighter._

"If you're gonna follow me, you're gonna do what I say."

Beth nodded, lips pressed into a firm line as she did. She was used to being underestimated by now, and she didn't really mind. It just meant whoever was stupid enough to underestimate her would get a nasty surprise when she fought back . . . Like Gorman had when she'd smashed that jar of candy against the back of his head and let Joan sink her teeth into his neck. She didn't need that recognition that others did with their reckless pride and overbearing natures . . . She _knew_ she was a fighter. No one needed to tell her for it to know it was true, so she could play the timid act for a little longer.

"So tell me who you are then. What's your story? I don't do forced conversation but I do like to know the basics of someone who can rip off a walker's head by ramming their fingers into its eyes . . . What's your name?"

". . . Beth. My name's Beth."

". . . Well then, I'm Molly," she responded, lowering her orange hood to reveal her entire head. She was only a young woman, with blonde hair in a crooked pixie cut and fringe held out of her face by a single blue clip. She didn't _look_ all that threatening, but Beth knew more than anyone that appearances could sometimes be deceiving.

"So what are you doing in Savannah?" she asked, "You alone or . . . with a group?"

"I . . ." Beth stopped, staring down at the ground as they walked along the rooftop, eyes straying to the ocean just over the rooftops ahead . . . And the docks where she had agreed to meet the others at. If they got there themselves. Beth knew she could make it, but could _they_? What if they got into some serious trouble and she wasn't there to help? _Shoot!_ She should never have left them alone. They weren't ripe enough for this world yet, and her actions very well may have condemned them.

"It's complicated." she said finally.

" _How_ complicated?" Molly pressed.

" _Very_. . ."

"I'm not _stupid_ , you know. Can't you like, simplify it or something? "

"I don't think you're stupid, it just _is_ complicated . . . So much has happened, it's just hard to sum up in a couple of words is all."

"Then tell me why you're in Savannah at _least_. I've been here since the turn, and I've _never_ seen you here before. You are from outside the city, aren't you?"

". . . I used to live on a farm west of here . . . But . . . not anymore. I came here hopin' to find my friends. We got separated in Atlanta . . . A lot's happened before _and_ after that."

Molly's brows rose. "All the way in _Atlanta_? What makes you think they'd come down _here_?"

"I think they might'a gone to Virginia, so that's where we're going."

" _We_? So you're not alone here then?"

"I came here with a small group. There's five of us in total . . . I lost them in an alley back that way, but I said I'd meet them at the city harbour."

It probably wasn't safe to be telling a stranger all this, but Molly didn't seem exactly The Governor-type nefarious. If Beth wanted her to trust her, she had to _give_ some of that trust too. That was how it worked now, like she had told the others back in the department store. Trust breeds trust.

 _You gotta put your faith in others if you wanna earn someone's trust yourself._

" _Five_ 's a pretty small number," Molly remarked, "How'd you make it this far with that little of you?"

"We've just been . . . _lucky_ , I guess . . . Really lucky." _Lucky_ was an understatement. Beth had been so lucky she felt like all of creation must have favoured and decided to watch out for her.

"Didn't seem like _luck_ that got you outta that mess back there . . . You fought your way out of it on your own, somehow."

 _I am strong._

"Yeah. I did." Beth smiled to herself.

She didn't need anyone to protect her 24/7, she could manage on her own now. Though luck probably did still have _something_ to do with it, she'd still fought that walker off and killed it all on her own. She had told Daryl that she could take care of herself once before . . . It seemed that still stood. She _could_ take care of herself. Almost perfectly in fact. Man, would he be proud if he could see her now. If he could see that she was capable of her own survival.

Well, that's what she thought before her foot went through a weak spot in the roof, and she went tumbling down into the building with it, falling on her back onto the hard floor inside.

"Oh _shit_!" Molly swore and jumped down after her. She came and knelt beside the crumpled blonde on the floor, who laid sprawled out and groaning at the impact the ground had had on her back. "Hey! You still in one piece? Beth?"

Beth moaned in honest to god _agony_ , and she felt like her spine had been snapped in two. She wouldn't be surprised if it _had_ with the pain she was feeling in that region. Her head throbbed painfully and she pressed her palms to the floor in an attempt to get up.

Despite her speech and apparent lone wolf demeanour, Molly seemed pretty concerned about her condition. The woman was probably surprised she wasn't dead yet . . . So was Beth to be honest.

"I wouldn't try to get up just yet after something like that!"

"I'm fine . . . I'm . . ."

Beth sat up. ". . . I'm _fine_. . ." And she _was_ fine.

 _What?_ After a fall like that . . . How had she not broken her spine, or at least a _few_ bones? The rate of impact she'd hit the ground at should surely have knocked her up at least a little bit . . . But here she was, back still intact and strangely unscathed from the ordeal. The only pain she felt was the constant throbbing in her head, and the flames she'd felt a few times before shooting through her veins again. Was it the work of the miraculous Grady serum that should be held responsible for such an impossible thing? Because that's what it was— _impossible_. A lot of things were impossible around her recently.

Molly blinked in shock. "You sure? That was a pretty nasty fall. Sure your spine isn't like fractured?"

Beth moved her body cautiously, before turning to look up at the woman. "No . . . It's fine."

"Wow . . . I guess that _is_ pretty fucking lucky! C'mon then." She held out a hand, which Beth took and was on her feet again, feeling almost as if she had never fallen through a ceiling and landed in a way that should have KO'ed her. Molly regarded her as she picked up the red axe, and shook her head slowly.

"You're _so_ unbelievably lucky . . . _Impossibly_. . ." she said to herself.

"-Who goes there?"

An unknown voice cut through the air very suddenly, startling the two and making them raise their axes out of habit. Someone else was here, and they definitely weren't a walker because Beth had heard a voice clearly. And as they turned their heads . . . They saw a towering cloaked figure emerge from the darkness of the room, out into the light . . .

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

For those of you that haven't played/watched the Telltale TWD game, Molly is a character the group from the game encounters on their trip to Savannah. Just search her up on the web and she'll be on the wiki if you want a clear picture of what she looks like. Thanks for reading! Comment your thoughts.


	9. Good people

**Author's Corner**

I've got something important to tell you before you read this chapter, so listen up. I'm going on holiday tomorrow for two weeks, so I won't be able to update during that time, which means no new chapters. It's sad, I know, but when I get back I'll be sure to post the next chapter as soon as I can, because lucky for you it's all typed up already, so you won't have to wait that much longer. Thank you again for all the lovely support, I really do appreciate it! And I hope this chapter tides you over until I'm back! If you wanna follow my tumblr/instagram etc. the links are in my description, so just check it out. Though I won't be posting there either due to no wi-fi haha.

So I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'll see you all in just over two weeks! Enjoy the chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** TWD and it's characters are absolutely not mine in any sense, though I would love to be a part of the production crew since that's my dream job to become a director or screen-writer. :)

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

A man stepped out from the shadows.

He wore a pale brown coat with the hood pulled up over his head, with heavy pockets that covered the majority of his large frame and probably protected him from walker bites well. His face was covered by an odd sort of gas mask, with huge darkened eye holes which allowed him to see. Beth also picked out the outline of a gun in one of his large pockets, one of which his hand was stuffed into, undoubtedly ready to pull out in case of trouble.

"Who are you?" he asked, "State y'business."

Beth shook her head slowly and rose a hand. "We don't want any trouble."

"Then don' make any. Tell me who you are and what you're doing, an' I don't give you hell."

"Give _us_ hell?" Molly snorted, about to stride forward and do something stupid, before Beth put her hand on her arm and shook her head. She eyed the outline of a gun in his pocket, and thankfully Molly caught on and stayed where she stood.

Beth slowly bent down and lowered the axe she held onto the floor, then raised her hands and took a few steps closer to the strange man. "We don't want any trouble," she repeated, "We're just passing through."

"That's what they _all_ say before they make a lunge for my neck."

"I'm not them . . ." she said softly, studying him carefully. ". . . What's your name?" she asked after a moments silence, and she could tell from his body language that he was taken slightly aback at the question. She supposed it wasn't every day someone asked him something as ordinary as that.

His hand twitched in his pocket and Beth saw him squeeze the gun in there. He was acting on impulse, defending himself from enemies. It was what you had to do in the world today . . . He was just doing that. Though the slight shaking of his shoulders that you could easily miss upon first glance made her think that there was perhaps something _else_ wrong with him too . . . Something darker . . . That twisted him into the person he was now.

There was something wrong with _everyone_ now.

She smiled. "I'm Beth. And this is Molly. We don't wanna attack you."

He watched them for a while through the huge black sockets of the mask, his eyes completely invisible making Beth unable to read him. Before he loosened his posture ever so slightly.

". . . Get your friend to drop her weapon too," he said in a low voice.

"Oh, no, not Hilda." Molly protested.

She'd named her _pickaxe_? Interesting, Beth thought to herself.

"Either you drop _'_ _Hilda',_ or I blast you to kingdom come and she falls out of your cold lifeless hands."

"Drop it," Beth said. Molly was about to open her mouth and probably shout some cuss words, but Beth turned her head and shot her a glare. "Drop. It," she repeated, words dripping from her tongue ominously, and Molly flinched.

Molly released a heavy sigh, but obliged, setting Hilda down on the floor beside Beth's red axe.

Beth then turned back to the man and nodded, and he pulled his hand out of his pocket, thankfully leaving the gun in there.

She smiled again. "Now why don't you take off your mask so we can get a better look at you?" she suggested.

"What, just in case I'm not secretly covered from head to toe in blood like _you_ are?"

Oh. She had almost forgotten how horrific she must look right now because of all that had happened. She must be absolutely _drenched_ in walker guts, dripping with blood. He had every right to point a gun at her, she could've been anything. And wait . . . Was that him making an attempt at _humour_? Or was it just her imagination?

"I just wanna see your face . . ." she answered, "You can tell a lot about a person from lookin' into their eyes. And I can't exactly _see_ yours right now to judge what kind of a person I think you are."

He seemed to think for a moment, before reaching up and pulling his hood down. He then reached back to unfasten the strap that held the mask to his face. With that no longer blocking her view, his face was now visible . . . and what was underneath was not what Beth had expected.

She didn't really know what she'd expected in the first place, to be honest.

A man's face stared back at her, lines of fatigue around his eyes and mouth. His skin was dark brown and his frenzy-clouded eyes trapped her. She felt herself unintentionally lowering her hands as she studied him. His face was defined by both shadows and light pouring down from the cracks in the ceiling, giving his face an almost ethereal glow and sharper definition. His eyes held no real trace of malice or killing intent, but Beth did see a considerable amount of distress in them, as if he was plagued by a dark memory . . .

Weren't they all?

Molly piped up then, her tone slightly rude and pushy, forcing Beth to hold in her sigh. "You know our names," she snapped, "What's yours?"

" _Morgan_ ," he replied, eyes still fixed on Beth's, "My name is Morgan Jones."

Beth cocked her head to the side and smiled inwardly. This man may be ruthless when it came to protecting himself, but she could tell from looking at his face that he wasn't a _killer_. When it came to the undead, maybe; but she had a feeling that he wouldn't just gun down innocent people . . . But there was definitely something that was troubling him, like there was for everybody. It had obviously gotten to him badly, and was slowly consuming him.

He needed to let go of whatever that was, because there was no place for mental deterioration now. You had to put things like that away, or they killed you.

"I'll ask again. What are you doing here?" he repeated.

"Just passing, we're tryna get to the harbour," Beth answered.

"Why? Ain't no boats left no more. Anyone who owned one or who was just smart took 'em, and the only ones left aren't usable."

"I'm not looking for a boat, I'm trying to find some people."

"What kind of people?"

"Good people."

"Ain't anyone left that fits that description anymore. You're either dead and killing as one of those things, or you're alive and _still_ killing. Either way, you're killing. Ain't no one you can call _'good'_ anymore."

". . . You're wrong."

Morgan's expression faltered, and Molly regarded her with a puzzled expression.

"You're _wrong_ ," she repeated, "There are still people like that."

". . . Well, I ain't met any in a long time now," he said eventually, mouth fixed in a firm line.

"Doesn't mean they no longer exist. You may not have seen any for a while, but that doesn't mean they're not still there . . . We believe in God, don't we? And no one's seen _him_."

He went quiet for a moment and Beth wondered briefly that he probably might not be a man of faith. It was hard to keep that faith now, so she wouldn't blame him if he didn't. Or maybe he'd _never_ believed? There was no way of telling. People chose whether or not they believed in God and things like that. Because sometimes it helped, and sometimes it didn't.

". . . You've kept your faith, I see?"

"I try to." she nodded.

"Does it _help_? . . . Putting your faith into something you're not sure is real? . . . Does it help the pain go away?"

Molly looked at Beth for the answer, and Beth carefully thought about her response. _Did it help the pain go away?_

"Sometimes . . ." she said, "It's good to have something to _believe_ in, even if you're not sure if it's true. Because it gives you courage . . . The courage to _go on_. And _that_ helps."

Silence fell, and for a while, all Beth could hear was the sound of distant walker snarls and the ocean. But no seagulls though, like she'd heard upon their previous visits to the coastal towns of Georgia. She hardly ever heard things of normality like that anymore. Probably because there weren't many things like seagulls _left_ now, just as there were little remaining people. They were all the same in that sense. _Prey_. Victims to the dead, vulnerable and prone to being devoured.

 _No more._

Because Beth was _done_ being prey to creatures without thought and feeling. Done acting as no more than a food source to hungry corpses that roamed the earth, sucking up every ounce of remaining humanity they could. Because Beth didn't want to be gutted. And she _wouldn't_ be. Because if anyone was getting gutted in this unfair game of cat and mouse . . . It was _them_.

A tapping against one of the doors in the room caught the three's attention, and all their heads swung in the direction of the noise. Snarls erupted from behind the door, and the sound of bashing against wood.

Morgan pulled the gun out from his pocket and stalked over to the door, listening intently. His eyes had a sinister quality to them in that moment; wholly black, like a shark's. And then he swung open the door for two walkers to come stumbling in. Just as Beth was about to warn him that gunfire drew more, he did something . . . unexpected.

He thrust the long _barrel_ of his gun deep into one of the walkers' temples, killing it silently, and then went to do the same to the other. They fell in a messy heap on the floor, and thick black blood ran down the barrel of Morgan's gun.

" _Clear_." he spat, eyes narrow and still laced with that dangerous gleam.

 _What screwed you up, Morgan?_ she wondered. _What was the last straw for you?_

"Okay . . ." Molly trailed, breaking the tension, "As fucking badass as that was . . . we should probably get out of here. Your people aren't gonna wait too long for you, Beth, so why don't we get a move on."

"Why wouldn't they wait for me?" Beth asked with a frown.

"Because people only keep others around if they have something to _offer_. What do _you_ have to offer them?"

Beth's eyes narrowed. _Underestimated_. . . Always underestimated. A mistake people kept making. Dawn . . . Gorman . . . _Daryl_. . . The day would come when people finally stopped underestimating her, though it honestly didn't bother Beth all too much herself. And when it did, people would be afraid to say her name . . . So they would whisper it.

 _You're not a fighter._

No . . . She was _worse_.

Beth smiled—a smile that didn't quite reach her icy eyes—and pulled her sleeve down over the bloody cast on her wrist. If only they knew the things she was capable of. If only _anyone_ knew.

"You're right . . ." she agreed, "We _should_ get going." She turned back to Morgan. "You coming?" she asked, secretly hoping that his answer would be yes. Being alone meant avoiding the heartbreak of losing those close to you, but it didn't help in the long run.

You could be out there too long on your own.

". . . I'll accompany you as far as the docks, then when you get to your people I'm out."

"You don't do people, I take it?"

He shook his head. "No . . . Not anymore."

"I know how you feel there," Molly piped up, "Always better to be the lone wolf, that way people can't double cross you."

"Why are you so convinced that everyone is like that? That everyone is out to stab you in the back?" Beth asked.

"Because they _are_. Maybe not _all_ of 'em, based on a few I've met, I'll give you that. But _most_." Molly replied, picking her pickaxe up from the table and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Not all of them . . ." Beth shook her head, "Not the ones _I_ know."

.

.

The corridor beyond the door the walkers had come from was dark. No more than a narrow passageway, with a lone window just before a crumbling staircase leading down to the ground floor. The walls, Beth noticed as they walked by, were covered with _etchings_ into the wood. _Words_ , _phrases_ , and just odd _markings_ that didn't make any sense. She considered asking Morgan about it but decided against it. It was apparent that he was a little messed up, and she didn't know why. Whatever had happened to him had been enough to send him into this.

And Beth wanted to help him.

As they reached the foot of the stairs, each step creaking under the pressure of feet but thankfully not giving way, Beth clutched her axe and made for the exit. There was no telling what could be on the other side of that door, and Beth wanted to get to the docks in one piece. Hopefully, the Grady crew had made it in one piece too . . . If they'd even made it at all.

Her hand reached for the handle and slowly turned it.

The sunlight on her face was harsh, and she had to blink several times to adjust to the intensity. Looking out into the street to check for any movement of walkers, she turned back and nodded for Molly and Morgan to follow.

The street was lined with various kinds of _traps_ that looked to be designed for _walkers_. A very decent method of protection really. Beth passed Morgan a glance and her brow furrowed as it seemed clear that _he_ had been the one to lay these traps. He may be sort of mad, but he knew how to survive.

They crept down the streets in the direction of the harbour, turning each corner carefully. Luckily though, there were no walkers in sight at all this time, nor the sounds of any nearby either. So the question was: _where were they all? Where did they go . . . ?_

"Why haven't we seen any walkers in the past ten-fifteen minutes?" she asked.

A smirk broke out on Molly's face at that question, and she swung her pickaxe around. "Brainless freaks should be wandering 'round the west end of the city right about now. I learned a thing or two how to keep 'em in line all the time I've been here. How do you think I get around the city so easily?" she asked.

"Sound . . ." Morgan trailed, seemingly realising something important. " _The bells_. . . _You're_ the one that's been ringing the bells."

"That's me."

"Wait. What do you mean _'ringing the bells'_?" Beth asked in confusion.

"If you've made it this long you must know by now that geeks are attracted to loud noises." Molly explained with a wide grin, "It's simple. I ring a bell in one part of the city, they all blindly wander over to the noise, then I travel across the rooftops to the part of the city I need to be."

Beth exhaled slowly, lips parted as she took in the information. _Incredible_. . . That was fantastic. Of course, sound drew them, so naturally, they would follow the sound of a huge-ass bell ringing. With such a simple yet effective method, you could storm the city with ease. Molly was a _genius_.

Morgan piped up. "Pretty good method, I'll give you that. But that bell's caused me some real problems with the walkers that follow. Gotten into a few tight spots because of it, an' they trample my traps if they're in a big enough herd."

Molly snorted and turned up her nose. "Not my problem. I do what _I_ gotta do to survive."

"Guys . . . Now's hardly the time for a fight." Beth sighed, "Let's just get to the docks and be quick about it. We have to stick together if we wanna make it."

"No, we don't." Molly rebuked. "I've made it just fine on my own. People just slow you down, or get in your way . . . Or drag you down _with_ 'em. No good comes outta being with others with the world the way it is. You're only worth something if you've got something to offer."

"That's not true. My people kept me around when I didn't have all that much to offer."

"Well, I don't know why they did it then." Molly spat harshly. "Must'a been a real burden for 'em."

 _Underestimated_. . . One day they would learn . . . One day.

Surprisingly, Morgan had something to add there, and it made Beth stop walking.

"She can't be that big of a burden," he said, "She's still here isn't she?"

Beth looked at him. There was something else in his eyes as he looked at her, buried beneath that pain and warped sense of reality . . . Something like what she'd seen in _Rick's_ eyes as he was trying to recover from Lori's demise . . . Something of a fighter. And that was enough proof that he could come back, and Beth knew she would try to help him.

Try, because try was all you could do now. And most of the time it wasn't enough . . . But sometimes . . . It was.

She looked at Molly then, all tough and hard on the outside, and smiled. "I _am_ strong," she said, before continuing on her way forward towards the ocean; the sea breeze catching the ruby and gold ends of her hair and making them dance.

 _I am strong._

They were now on the last stretch of city before they reached the water's edge, and Beth broke out into a run when she saw the sea. Morgan and Molly followed her suit, and the three ran with their weapons held high and the smell of saltwater filling their nostrils.

Once at the water's edge, Beth stood on the concrete at the very edge and looked down along the shore for any people. There was no one in sight, but Beth's gut told her that wasn't the entire picture. She had to look deeper . . . Just like Daryl had told her when tracking. Look at what can be seen, but also what _cannot_ be seen. It was a lot harder in a city landscape compared to the woods, but she could still _try_.

Beth crouched down low, closed her eyes, and remembered all Daryl had taught her.

"What're you doing?" Molly asked, but Beth hushed her with her finger. She needed silence for this if she was going to get anything.

 _What can ya smell?_

Salt from the water . . . Decay and the rotting of flesh . . . Ash and smoke, likely from the remains of burned down buildings . . . _Blood_. But not old, rotting blood . . . _New_ blood, _fresh_ blood.

She opened her eyes then and looked around again. The scent was strong, suggesting that whatever had shed the blood had only passed through here _recently_. So she looked around for anything that could point towards what it was . . . and saw something floating in the water.

 _Bandage wrappings,_ soaked with red, looking to have been tossed into the water for disposal. Could they be from _Tanaka's_ arm wrappings?

Beth turned her attention back to the pavement and squinted her eyes. It was very subtle, easy to miss, but there were _markings_ in the dirt along the concrete. Indents of what looked to be messy _footprints_ in the muddy concrete, leading down the shoreline . . . She pressed a finger into the dirt, smearing the mark. It was still fresh, meaning whatever had made these tracks had made them recently.

Beth stood up and bounded down the shore along the trail, breath ragged and sweat building as she never slowed. She could hear Morgan and Molly following, Molly's confused cries of what she was doing, but Beth ignored them. All of her focus was directed onto the muddy trail and heavy scent of blood that was steadily becoming stronger and stronger. The trail led to a crashed boat by the waterfront, hull smashed in and not fit for sailing in the slightest. But that wasn't why Beth was here.

She was here because this was where the trail finished, and the smell of blood was at its strongest.

 _What can you hear?_

Morgan and Molly's footsteps as they neared her . . . The sound of the water splashing against the side of the concrete . . . Distant walker sounds . . .

And _shuffling_ from inside the boat.

"Shepherd?"

She tried. It was _crazy_. . . Oh so crazy . . . But at the same time, not crazy at all.

And then, a grey beanie-clad head poked out from behind the sail, and broke out into a rare smile at the sight of the blonde standing on the water's edge with a matching smile.

" _Beth_!" the female officer beamed, "You _made_ it! She actually made it! Guys look."

Effy's head was the next to pop up, and she bore a grin so wide it looked as if it could break her cheeks. Next was Tanaka, wearing his sheepish grin and passing a wave. Then finally Edwards, readjusting his glasses and staring in disbelief. All of them, alive and in one piece.

Beth's eyes shone at the sight of them all, and she dropped the axe in relief. _They were okay_. . . They were actually _okay_. Even without her there to guide them, they had managed to stay alive, and even have the initiative to _hide_. They were clever . . . They had _done it_.

Beth realised she had been treating them as if they were stupid before, which this quite clearly proved they _weren't_. They were smart, and Beth decided to never treat them otherwise ever again.

"You're alive!" Effy exclaimed, hopping out of the boat and practically launching herself onto Beth.

Beth wrapped her arms around the girl and returned the embrace. Shepherd followed and gave Beth a warm pat on the shoulder, still wearing her uncharacteristic grin, and Edwards helped Tanaka limp out onto the pavement.

"Who're these two?" the doctor asked upon noticing Morgan and Molly, supporting Tanaka's weight on him.

Beth broke away from Effy and looked at them. "This is Morgan and Molly. I met them in the city . . . They helped me."

Well Molly had insulted her on multiple occasions, and Morgan had pointed a gun at her, but she guessed they had helped her in a _way_. . . Sort of. They'd given her the desire to prove herself. To prove that she wasn't a burden, that she could make it. And also that her people would wait for her, because that's what good people did.

Shepherd gave them both a firm handshake, one which Molly flinched and appeared visibly uncomfortable at. It appeared she wasn't fond of formality. As much was to be expected from a woman who'd been alone for so long really.

"It was a good idea to hide in the boat," Beth praised.

"It was the Doc who suggested it." Effy grinned.

Beth's eyes widened at that and she turned to Edwards, whose lip was twitching in embarrassment and shuffling his feet. Her smile softened and she turned her head to the side.

"You did?" she asked softly.

He nodded.

Beth decided to dismiss that he wasn't meeting her gaze, and turned to look back at the city before suggesting they make for Virginia . . . Only to see a herd of walkers making their way around the street corner they'd just come from.

"Oh _shit_!" Molly cursed, whipping her pickaxe out to do some serious damage.

Beth heard the breath Effy took from beside her and saw Edwards pale at the sight. _No!_ Things were going so well. They weren't going down here. They would make it.

"Run!" she yelled and pointed at a metal ladder leading up one of the buildings, "Get up there!"

Shepherd hooked an arm under Tanaka's free side and pulled him along with Edwards, helping him get up the ladder. Molly knocked one walker out with her pickaxe and went for a few more. She was pretty skilled in combat, it was no surprise that she had survived this long alone. But they had to work _together_ here. So Beth handed Effy her own axe and gave her a nod, and the girl swallowed. She then reached down into her boot and pulled out the green and white tipped bolt, gripping it tightly and charging at a walker with it.

It sunk into the creature's skull easily, dark blood oozing out of the hole and dripping down onto Beth's already stained cast. She then yanked the arrow back out and let the walker fall to the ground, _dead_.

Morgan picked up a fallen road sign and whacked several walkers at once, sending them flying, with their brains splattering against the hard surface of the sign. Beth stabbed another with the bolt, kicking one that came too close to Effy in the knee so that it fell, and Effy swung the axe down on its head. Blood and guts shot out onto her and she gasped, hands shaking on the axe that was still wedged in the thing's head.

Beth was grateful for the bolt in this moment, as she took down several more with it to give Effy time to pull the weapon out of the walker's head.

"Now go!" Beth shouted to Effy over the snarling, and the girl nodded before making a run for the ladder. Once on it, she threw Beth back the axe.

Beth caught it and held it in one hand, the bolt still firmly held in the other. She swung it and took off a walker's head, allowing Molly to make a run for the ladder, and stuck the bolt in one's eye. She shot Morgan a glance during this and saw the killing intent in his eyes as he continued to swing the massive sign around. She slashed a walker out of the way and ran to him.

"Morgan! Morgan, come _on,_ we need to go!"

He didn't seem to have heard her as he jabbed the sign down another walker's throat, blood splattering onto him. His eyes were completely black; _feral_. He wasn't going to leave until he had killed every last one . . . Or until they killed _him_. But Beth wasn't going to let either of those options fall into play, she was going to get him out.

 _There's always another way out._

She swung the axe down on one's head that was about to sink its teeth into him and shot him the fiercest glare she could muster. She then grabbed him by the collar of his coat and pulled his face close to his so she could scream in his face.

"Whatever happened to you . . . It isn't worth _killing_ yourself over! YOU CAN COME BACK FROM IT!"

 _We aren't too far gone._

His eyes shot wide at that, and he looked as if he had been pulled out of some kind of trance. Beth breathed heavily and took out a few more walkers with the axe, sending more blood shooting out onto her. He looked at her as if he was mesmerised, despite being surrounded by flesh-eating monsters, with wide eyes and mouth hanging open.

" _Go_!" was the one word she said, and the only word she needed because he did exactly that.

He knocked out a few more walkers near her with the sign before tossing it and leaping onto the ladder. Beth shoved the bolt back into her boot and cut her way through the decaying corpses with the axe as she made her way to the ladder. One walker caught her leg though as she leaped up, and refused to let go.

Morgan reached down and grabbed her by the waist, helping tug her up. Beth kicked the walker in the face, but even that wasn't enough, so she swung the axe down and sliced off its arm . . . freeing herself. _I don't want to be gutted._ No walker would ever get the chance. That would not be her fate. Not at least until she'd found her family again. Because they were out there somewhere, alive and fighting.

She scrambled up the ladder after Morgan and fell onto her stomach once at the top, breathing heavy and sweat coating her body.

Molly put a hand on her hip and gave a laugh of disbelief at the sight of her. "There goes your fucking good luck again." she laughed, "Unbelievable."

And this time, Beth laughed along.

.

.


	10. Light

**Author's Corner**

HELLO AGAIN MY LOVELIES I AM BACK! BACK FROM THE VACATION AND READY TO GIVE YOU MORE CHAPTERS!

I hope you've all been well! I for one have been very well (aside from nearly dying from Spanish heat). The time away gave me ultra inspiration, and I now can write a TON of stuff! Chapters for this, She Wolf, and even more awesome things! Thanks for waiting for me, I'll shut up now.

Thank you again for all the kind words and support. Please enjoy the chapter and give me your thoughts at the end!

 **Disclaimer:** My visit abroad didn't give me the chance to steal rights to TWD, but I'm not giving up. I'm sure that was Gimple I saw in the market... If only I coul've dragged him into an alleyway and forced him to hand the rights over.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

As the group came to the edge of that particular rooftop, they stopped and stared down at the square below. Just beyond, there was a barricade constructed entirely of _dead bodies_ and even _live walkers_ , which had been skewered on poles, thus unable to wander off . . . Left to hang there with their arms flailing out and their growls echoing out into the square.

"What the devil is _that_?" asked Shepherd, staring down at the spectacle below.

Molly's eyes narrowed, and her lips pressed into a firm line before she re-opened it to answer . . . " _Crawford_."

"What's Crawford?" Beth asked.

". . . Crawford was a community at the start of the turn," she explained with a sour frown, "At first it seemed okay . . . But then they started enforcing all these rules. No children, no elderly, or anyone with a medical condition were permitted. Food was rationed harshly and anyone who went against the rules was . . . _punished_. They set up a barrier of geeks to separate their district from the rest of the city, to keep other geeks and survivors away. But now . . . Now that's all gone."

"What happened?" Effy asked, eyes trained on Molly intently, " _Why_ is it all gone now?"

"Why do you _think_?"

Beth stared at the barricade of walkers for a while, head throbbing and ears ringing as she just stared. Slowly, an idea began to take place in her mind . . . A stupid, crazy, probably highly illogical idea . . . That could actually have some worth and positive results.

"You say the place is overrun, right?" she asked Molly, who nodded in response. "Then it's just _walkers_ in there we have to worry about? And no people?"

"Well, yeah," Molly said again, brow raised suspiciously as she tried to work out where the conversation was going.

"What if we went in there?" Beth asked after a minute of thought.

Edwards didn't like the sound of that (not that Beth thought he would). "W . . . _What_? Why would we wanna do that?" he spluttered.

"By the sound of it, this place was pretty well stocked up on food and other stuff," Beth explained, "If there's no one in there but brainless monsters . . . No one to _guard_ the goods . . . Then what's to stop us from sneaking in and taking some things? It's not exactly like we'd be _stealing_ if there's no one there who needs it."

 _There's no one coming back to this like with the funeral home . . ._ she thought. _No need to leave a thank you note this time._

"I don't know . . ." Molly sighed, "I went in there with another group who had the same idea . . . And it didn't go so well. Plus there was hardly anything left worth taking anyway."

Beth flashed a tiny smile, and Molly stared in even more confusion. "Why're you smiling like that all of a sudden?" she asked.

"You said _hardly_ anythin' . . . Not that there was _nothing_."

Molly went quiet then, and Beth knew she was right. This could work. They needed the supplies, and an opportunity had arisen, so they had to take it. It was the smartest thing to do . . . It was what _Rick_ would do.

"Then it's simple." she smiled, "We don't _all_ have to go in, just a few of us can sneak in, grab what we need, then get out. Tanaka's still weak so he can stay here. Effy, Edwards, and Shepherd can take care of him. And the rest of us'll go get the job done."

"Why do I have to stay?" Shepherd frowned, "You can use all the help you can get."

Beth shook her head. "If something happens here, I need you _here_. Your job is to look after these three. We all got jobs to do, and that's yours."

"This is crazy . . . _You're_ crazy." Molly shook her head.

Beth turned back to face her, smile fading and expression taking on a more sincere one. "You don't have to help if you don't want to. No one does. I'm just _asking_ you to help . . ." Molly was unfazed, so she tried something else.

"Don't you get tired of being on your own sometimes?" she asked, "Of only looking out for yourself? I'm not asking you to die for us, I'm just giving you the chance to change that. To show that it's not worthless helping others. That it's not all about take, take, and no give . . . You can help us without needing to give up anything dire. All I'm asking is that you _help_."

The other blonde stared at her, seemingly at a loss for words. But Beth wasn't angry. Molly had been alone for so long, trusting no one and having no one trusting her . . . It was only natural for her to act like this. She may choose to part ways with them, or she may choose to help. Beth wasn't forcing her into anything. Like she'd said, she was only _asking_. Because that's all you could do now . . . _Ask_ for help, and hope that person agreed. Just ask.

 _Maybe you gotta keep on remindin' me sometimes._

All you had to do was ask.

"Please?"

". . . This . . ." Molly stumbled over her words, "This doesn't mean anything then? Just this _one_ time?"

Beth nodded.

". . . " Molly sighed. "Okay. I'm in."

"Me too," Morgan nodded, and Beth's heart leapt at their agreement.

She beamed at them both and turned back to the others. "We'll be back as soon as we can." she promised, "Take care of each other, and if something goes wrong . . . Fire your gun."

"But you said noise attracts." Edwards countered.

"I know, but _I'll_ hear it too. So if something happens, you fire that gun and make for the cars before any walkers come walking. I'll meet you there or somewhere along the road if you have to get out in a hurry . . . Just don't die."

". . . All right." Shepherd nodded, "We'll see you."

"Good luck," Effy smiled, and Beth gave her a nod.

Molly snorted. "She has enough of _that_ to go around," she remarked dryly.

.

.

Beth clambered messily over the walker barrier that had been erected around Crawford, slashing the bottom jaws off any live walker that went for her with the red axe. She covered her mouth with the back of her free hand and coughed violently, the smell of decay and rot overwhelming her sense of smell. It was absolutely foul, and her front was now covered in a layer of old blood and guts from climbing across the fallen corpses.

So much for changing clothes earlier.

Once over the barricade, she leaped down onto the pavement below and coughed loudly again. Morgan and Molly joined her, landing beside her and covering their mouths as well.

"Fucking _disgusting_." Molly spat, "Way worse than last time. But I guess that's to be expected since there's no one around maintaining the place."

After an array of coughs, Beth removed her hand from over her mouth began walking away from the rotting pile, unable to stay close to it for much longer. Despite the way things were now, the smell was something you just couldn't get used to. And never would.

Clearing her throat, she turned to Molly. "You said you came here before . . ." she started. "Why?"

Molly shrugged. "Same as why I'm here now. A group had the same idea you did, I decided to help."

"What happened?"

"We got in, got what we came for . . . Lost a couple of people along the way . . . Then got out, _somehow_."

"Thought you didn't like helpin' people?" Morgan remarked, "What made ya help _that_ group?"

". . . I guess it was the guy who led them that made me wanna help. His name was Lee Everett. You might know him from the news, he was a convicted criminal on his way to prison just before all this started."

Beth nodded. "Yeah, I heard about him. He killed someone for sleeping with his wife, right?"

"That was him. But . . . He was a good guy. There was somethin' about him that made me wanna help 'em out. Had a kid he was takin' care of an' all, a little girl. I couldn't leave _her_ to die . . ." Her gaze was fixed on the ground as they walked. "That's why, I guess . . ."

Beth couldn't help but notice the number of times the word _was,_ was used when talking about Lee, but she decided not to comment on it. "And why are you helping _us_?" she asked instead.

Molly stared at her then, mouth opening but no words coming out. She seemed to be thinking about something, but what, Beth didn't know.

"Why does _anyone_ help others these days?" Molly eventually mumbled with a shrug. "Help isn't something you come by easily, people don't just hand it out anymore. Unless you're worth somethin'."

"Ya keep saying that . . . About being worth something." Morgan trailed, "But what does that actually mean? What _determines_ your worth?"

"I . . . I don't know. I guess it's determined by how useful you are in means of surviving. How you can be of help to make sure other people survive too . . . How strong you are."

Beth frowned. "People have different ideas on what it is to be strong now. Strength comes in many different forms. It's just as important to be _mentally_ powerful as well as physically . . . Sure enough, if you can take out a whole bunch of walkers with ease, that's nothing if your mind and emotional state are slowly deteriorating."

Morgan looked at her then, and she met his gaze, holding it as he just stared. Beth thought back to the way he had swung the sign around back by the docks, and his eyes had been filled with such cold _rage_. The rage that compelled to kill, anything and anyone, just to satisfy that desperation for bloodshed.

Strength was in the body, yes, but in the _mind_ too, in the form of willpower and morality. Because without those, you may just as well be one of the walking corpses . . . Brain-dead and emotionless; no longer containing what it meant to be human.

"Come on,"

The streets of Crawford, unfortunately, weren't as empty as the rest of Savannah, and the trio was forced to the shadows to avoid being spotted. Beth squeezed the handle of her axe and poked her head out of the alley they were hiding in.

"Any idea whereabouts we can find what it is we need?" Morgan asked from behind.

"There's an armoury and pharmacy in the school just near here, then kind of a pantry where they used to keep all their canned stuff just beyond that," Molly explained.

"Three places . . . Three of _us_. . ." Beth mumbled to herself, "We should split up. There are three places we need to be, and three of us. It'd be a lot faster for us to split up and assign a place to each of us."

"What are we? The Scooby-Doo gang?" Molly snorted.

"As long as I get to be the blonde guy with the ascot." Morgan remarked, "He was always good with the ladies."

Beth released a tiny giggle without meaning to and turned back to them. "Well _un_ like Fred, I'm gonna ask who wants to go where, instead of just leaving Shaggy and Scooby for bait."

How long had it been since she'd watched TV? Far too long. If only the electricity in the prison had worked on the television screens and given them channels again. Watching a show like Scooby-Doo had never felt so appealing to Beth. She had a feeling she would've watched anything if given the chance.

"I can scour the armoury?" Morgan offered, "I'm good with things like that. Well, I've _become_ good with things like that."

Beth nodded. "Well my daddy was a vet, so I know a little about medicine. I can check the pharmacy?"

"And that leaves me with the pantry. Great, food." Molly fist-pumped.

"Try to get as much as you can. But don't overload yourself so you can't carry it all. Just get _enough_." Beth instructed.

"You got it, missy." Molly nodded, "But I don't know how much you people eat, so how will I know what's enough?"

It must have been a rhetorical question because she hopped up onto one of the rooftops with her pickaxe and scurried off in the direction of the pantry before Beth could even think of an answer.

Beth and Morgan watched her orange figure disappear over the roofs, and looked at each other. They decided it was best to stay together until it was totally necessary to go their separate ways. There was no telling what was around every corner, after all, and they could use all the help they could get.

.

.

The old school building was visible down the street, and Beth peeked out from the alley again.

One walker was staggering dangerously close to where they were hidden and threatened to expose them. So Beth lifted her axe and drove it into the creature's head, before pulling it into the alley with them and hoping none around had noticed.

Morgan watched her slice open the walker's belly with interest, and blinked as she smeared a handful of its entrails onto her already bloody front.

"What're you doing?" he asked.

"Something people from my group did a long time ago," she answered whilst shoveling more onto her neck and smearing a little on her cheeks. "I was trying to do it earlier with the others . . . But it went wrong . . . So I'm trying again."

"But what're you _doing_?"

She smeared a thick mark along the scar on her cheek and smiled. "This works as a camouflage against them. They think you're one of them because of the smell, so they leave you alone."

". . . That _works_?" he asked,

She shrugged. "It did for my friends."

Eventually, he crouched down beside her and copied what she was doing, rubbing guts onto his front and frowning at the consistency building on his fingers. "How are you so confident about things you can't be one hundred percent sure on? What makes you so sure they can work?" he asked.

"I guess . . . I guess I just like to think you can still believe in things. Believe that even if it seems like a lost cause . . . Things'll be okay."

"But what if you _know_ they're completely impossible?"

". . . _I'm_ still here, aren't I?"

Morgan was silent again, seemingly at a loss for words. He was looking at her again, with those eyes filled with such puzzlement and wonder. It made her squirm under the intensity of his gaze.

But still, she smiled. "Even after a shot to the head, I'm still up and walking when I should probably be dead. Still _running_." Her eyes went to the walkers staggering around in the street as they walked by in their camouflage, unnoticed and undisturbed. "Hell, we're still alive even after this hideous outbreak . . . _That's_ a pretty impossible thing if you ask me. But it shows we can make it through impossible things, you just gotta have faith."

"Faith . . ." he whispered.

They were silent for a bit as they passed several walkers, hoping to avoid looking too out of the ordinary. When they had passed, however, Morgan resumed talking.

"I was a man of faith," he said, "Used to go to church every Sunday with my boy and the missus . . . Before all this . . . Then I lost them, and then my faith too."

"Why did you lose it?" Beth asked, although she already knew the answer.

"I wondered what _every_ man of faith surely must've then . . . I wondered that if there was a God up there, watching over and protecting us . . . why would he condemn us like this? Why would he just leave us to die?"

They reached the door to the school building, and Beth opened it and gave the side a loud tap to check for any inside activity. When no sound erupted from within, she nodded at Morgan and walked in carefully with her weapon held up. Walkers sprung up anywhere these days, so you could never feel too safe.

"God condemned humanity before, in the Old Testament," she pointed out as they walked through the entryway of the building. "He was angry over the amount of sin mankind had, so he flooded the world with rain in an attempt to drown them all."

"And is that what's happening now?" he asked, " _When there's no more room in hell, the dead shall walk the earth._ Is that what this is? We're the sinners, and the dead have risen from the overcrowded pits of Hell . . . to demolish the world?"

There was a flashlight laying on the ground by an array of lockers, and Beth leaned down to pick it up.

"God may have been unmerciful when he tried to flood the world then, but he entrusted the remains of goodness to the man named Noah, who built the ark and saved two of each animal . . . You know the story. So whilst he may be ruthless in sending this apocalypse down on us . . . He's not entirely without compassion."

"And why do you say that?"

"Because he gave Noah a _chance_. A chance to save all he could of the old world, and rebuild a better one, without sin. A debatable way of doing it, this way I agree, but understandable when you think about it. He's giving us the chance to be a part of something bigger. Something better."

The reformation of a new world. A new future.

"Not sure I _wanna_ be a part of it," he mumbled. "If this is the cost. Not even sure if there's even somethin' we can _be_ a part of. There's just nothing."

"Sometimes . . . you gotta _create_ what you wanna be a part of. We have to shape our future, we have a say in what it'll be like. And _ourselves_ too . . . This is kinda like starting over. We're not tied down by all our past mistakes. We have a say in who we are now."

". . . You kept more faith than I did. I'm afraid I don't follow you."

She hit the flashlight with her fist, trying to get it to work so they could have a little light shed in the dark school building they were in.

"I think God gave us the chance to do that. To save what we can of the old world, then rebuild a better one, and start over. Sure he sentenced us to death by sending the living dead out to tear us apart, but at the end of the day . . . We're still here, still fighting. Fighting to live in this world of darkness."

She hit the flashlight harder this time.

"Because even in a world of darkness and death like this one . . ."

The flashlight flickered to life on the third bash of her fist, and shone bright _beams of light_ down the corridor . . .

". . . Light still finds a way to shine through . . ."

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

The next few chapters are already written. I may give you the next one faster if you review.. ;)

~DirtyCookiie


	11. All life is precious

**Author's Corner**

Slightly faster update this time because I've been away, so I felt like giving you more. ;)

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Beth had been grateful for the light provided by the flashlight at first . . . Well for a few seconds at least before a walker had come lunging at her from around a corner because it had seen the light.

The appliance and axe fell from her hands as the walker caught hold of her shoulders and threw her up against one of the lockers. She thrashed against it, trying to push its snapping jaws away from her neck, before Morgan swung the axe into the thing's head just as its teeth were about to lock into her flesh, killing it.

It sagged against her before falling to the ground at her feet, black blood pooling from the wound in its head where the axe had hit.

"Thanks." she breathed heavily.

He half-smiled and handed her back the bloody weapon. "Don't mention it," he said with a shake of his head, as he bent to pick the flashlight up too and point its light down another corridor.

They walked down another hallway, several bodies collapsed at the sides, with papers and books tossed across the floor in messy piles.

"All that homework sure does seem like a waste now," Beth commented at the sight of all the papers strewn across the floor.

Morgan hummed in agreement, gaze traveling upward to a hole in the ceiling, where broken lights hung by wires, and moisture dripped down from the rotting plaster. The sound of dripping echoed out down the wide corridors, water splashing onto the cool marble of the floor, stretching out into the deafening silence. _Drip! Drip!_ They listened to that silence and painfully loud dripping, senses screaming with alert and Beth's veins running with fire once again.

Like they usually did when something wasn't right.

"Let's keep moving," she said quietly after all while, walking past Morgan and brushing his arm with her fingers. "I don't like this place. Let's get out as soon as we can."

They walked down a few more corridors with flickering lights overhead and creaking from the locker doors. Beth read the signs of the offices they passed, read the names of those who were likely long dead by now. And then they arrived at the teacher's lounge, situated right at the end of the hallway, illuminated by the flickering electric lights and the beam from the torch.

"Could be stuff in there. Wanna check it out?" Morgan asked, and Beth nodded.

"Yeah."

They went and opened the door to the room, wary of any walker that might come flailing out. The metal of the handle was cold, and Beth shivered at the contact. She swung open the door finally and held the axe in her hands, peering into the hauntingly sinister room.

The staffroom office was quiet, gloomy, _eerie_ in fact. Beth felt the uncomfortable shift in the atmosphere the minute she and Morgan entered the room. The air was colder than out in the corridor, thinner, chillier in a way that crept down Beth's spine and forced her to suppress a shudder. But the air was the least of the problem when she sniffed, and her nostrils were flooded with an immensely strong scent of damp and decay.

Morgan must have smelled it too—Beth couldn't see how he possibly could _not_ —because he pressed the sleeve of his coat up over his mouth and frowned. Even with everything happening, and everything she saw . . . The _smells_ were something Beth found she'd never been able to get used to.

And imagined she never would.

Yet also, and though she didn't know why . . . Her gut was screaming at her that something was very, _very_ off. And quite frankly, Beth had grown to trust her gut over time to know that when it acted like this, it usually meant that something was indeed, quite wrong.

"Not much in here is there," she remarked quietly, not wanting to startle anything that might be there with them.

Morgan didn't answer. Nor could she now see him. She resisted the urge to panic and swallowed. Where had he gone?

She wandered around one of the worn leather sofas at the center of the room, and found him on his knees there, staring at something. Beth followed his gaze and was about to ask what was wrong . . . When she saw it.

The source of the foul smell . . .

The reason for Morgan's uncharacteristic drop to the floor . . .

Before them, sprawled out on the tattered rug on the floor, cries broken and limbs painfully thin . . . Was what looked to be a very _young boy walker_.

Beth felt her heart ache as the pitiful creature lifted its head and made a reach for them, only to no avail as its skinny limbs were far too weak, so it fell in a crumple on the rug once again. It's awful choked groans were shrill and excruciating to hear, as the decaying thing made a reach again and fell.

It was only, or what _had been,_ a little boy. A student of the school, Beth realised from his ragged uniform remains. He must have holed himself up in the teacher's lounge back when the virus started, seeking refuge until someone came for him . . . Only to _starve_ to death, from the looks of his thin, bony form. An awful way to die. A way that she and the others had nearly died that winter when they couldn't find food.

Beth could feel her heart breaking with every hopeless attempt he made at nearing them, as he toppled to the floor again and just groaned that awful cry of death.

She looked to Morgan then, on his knees beside her, body sagging and expression lifeless. Only his dark eyes danced with sorrow, and loss, and heartbreak. Everything Beth had seen in the eyes of her loved ones upon their losses, upon _all_ their losses. And she found herself lowering to the ground so that she was level with the broken man.

"Morgan?" she called, softly, never pushing, because pushing was something you didn't do in a situation like this.

Pushing was something you _never_ did.

"Are you okay?"

He hadn't stuck her as the type to act like this in the presence of a small boy walker. He was too strong for that. Too guarded. So, of course, it was something else. Something weighing him down that he just couldn't put away . . . _Alone_ , that is. He couldn't put it away alone.

". . . My boy . . ."

The words fell from his lips quietly, so quietly Beth almost didn't hear, but they were still audible. He spoke like he was talking for the first time, voice small and words trailing.

"My boy," he said again, eyes swimming with what looked to be _tears_.

Though Beth knew he would allow none to fall. Men were like that. Never wanting to show their tears, even in the roughest of times.

Daryl had felt great shame on letting _his_ fall in her presence, and she knew he had hated himself then for what he saw as a weakness. But it _wasn't_ a weakness. It was a sign that he was human, that he still _cared_. Crying showed that you cared, even with the world the way it was. And if bringing yourself to still care in a world like this was seen as a weakness, then what was a _strength_?

"What about your boy?" Beth asked after another silence from Morgan, whose eyes remained still fixed on the struggling helpless walker. Still never pushing, but sometimes just a certain amount of push was needed.

Just a tiny, gentle push in the right direction. But never a shove.

"This could'a been my boy . . ." he mumbled, "My _son_ could've been like this . . . Alone, afraid . . . Left for dead. He could have . . . He _was_. . . Until I took care of that for him."

Took care of.

Another silence, and Beth thought that was all he would offer, until he opened his mouth again.

"I shot him . . ." he said, " _Killed_ him because of what he became . . . What he became because of me. Because of me not being able to keep him safe . . ."

". . . You saved him," Beth whispered, and his eyes widened and he finally turned to look at her.

"You _saved_ him," she said again, gaze firm and head nodding slowly. "You may not think so, but you _did_. You took care of him . . . You were his dad."

The tears glistened brighter in Morgan's eyes and she saw his lip wobbling, but the tears still wouldn't fall, because he would never let them. Beth's heart went out to him in that moment, and she wanted to cry _for_ him. Cry because he wouldn't. But there was something else she could do for him. Something he probably had no one else for back with his son.

She could do _this_ , at least.

"But I'll take care of _this_ ," she said with traces of a smile and put her hand on his shoulder. "So you don't have to. Not this time."

She rose to her feet, Morgan's head following her as she did, and made her way over to the crippled walker, red axe in her hand. But then she stopped and looked down at the axe in her hand.

And put it down on the table.

Instead, she reached down into her boot and pulled out the slim bodied bolt, and went to kneel beside the little walker boy.

He made several grabs at her( none ending in success) and Beth stared at the creature with big, wobbly eyes. She gripped the bolt and breathed deeply... Before sinking it down into the walker's temple, killing it as quickly as she could, and watching as it fell to the ground _for good_ this time.

Beth wiped the bloody body of the bolt on her sleeve and squeezed it in her palms.

She was strong, but sometimes, she needed some strength that wasn't hers.

She needed _his_ strength. And this arrow was the closest thing to _him_ she could find. The closest strength to his she had. A strength that she needed, and wasn't afraid to admit to herself.

 _I need you._

 _Let me rely on you._

". . . Thank you."

Morgan's breathy choke cut through the air and made Beth jump. She turned back to face him, and he was staring at her from where he sat on his knees, lips curled into a sheer beholden smile. And Beth knew he meant it.

So she didn't say _Don't mention it_ , or _Nothin' to it_. . . She just smiled and nodded.

"He's with your boy now."

". . . In Heaven? D'ya believe that too?" his mouth trembled, "Does _that_ help?"

". . . I believe . . . I believe that everyone we love is in heaven, an' I hope that they're watchin' over us . . . And that they're at peace."

"I sometimes wonder what it even _means_ to be at peace anymore," he admitted. "Or if there's even such a thing as that pacifying tranquility."

And Beth just watched the sorry, broken man kneeling before from her lift his head to the ceiling and sigh, and blink the forming tears in his eyes away.

"But peace . . ." he continued, "I guess such a thing is heavily desired by mankind. The desire t'lay his head down and rest for the rest of eternity. Heavily desired indeed."

"So is life," Beth added, " _Life_ is heavily desired too."

"Not as much as death these days."

" _I_ don't want death." she argued, "Not anymore . . . I wanna fight, try, live . . . Because there're still things worth fightin' for. Worth _living_ for." _Still people left._ "And I know that I didn't use to get that but I do now, and I want that."

 _I want to live._

Morgan's brow furrowed, and he regarded her carefully from where he knelt. "Why are you so confident that that's true?" he asked. "Why do'ya fight so hard for that lone belief?"

She smiled.

". . . Because I believe all life is precious, Morgan."

 _Precious._

Beth pondered on the meaning of that word as she lifted a white cover from the sofa and draped it over the boy walker's unmoving body. _Life is precious,_ she thought covering him.

 _It does matter._

Life is precious; a gift. Because it can be stripped away at any given time. Therefore one must fight hard to retain that gift. Fight oh so hard.

.

.

Beth and Morgan had parted ways at a fork in the corridors and ventured in the direction of their separate tasks.

Morgan had let her keep the flashlight, saying he had no real need for it because he was no stranger to darkness, having lived in it for years now. But somehow, Beth sensed that was starting to change. That despite cowering in a dark corner, afraid of the sunlight for so long . . . He was willing to poke out his foot and try ever so slightly, stepping into the light . . .

But without his company, she was now quite alone, and the corridors were long and empty. She pointed the torch down the long hallway and shone the bright beam onto a series of doors at the end. There looked to be what was a medical cross on one of the doors, suggesting it was the pharmacy, and Beth approached it.

But that _white cross,_ beaming metallic in the darkness reminded her of awful things. Of being taken in a car branded with that very symbol. Away from everything left that mattered . . .

Beth walked and stopped just in front of the door with the green lined cross. Her gut was churning again, and the air felt damp and chilly. Faint dripping echoed from down another corridor, one which she was reluctant to explore, mostly because of the distant groaning she could hear coming from it. _Hopefully, from the failing plumbing system_ , she prayed intensely. And not . . . _Them_.

She tried the door, but had no such luck in getting it open. _Damn it._ She scowled. Kicking it in was an option, but there was still no way of determining how many threats were in the school building, and Beth didn't want a herd of walkers coming running at the sound. There had to be an easier and quieter way to get inside.

The groans at the other end of the corridor were getting louder, so Beth turned off the flashlight. She tried the door again, thinking that maybe it had just been stuck the first time, but it was still locked solid.

—She really wanted to kick the damned door in that moment.

Trying not to panic over the sound of snarling and groaning that seemed to be getting closer, Beth looked around for something . . . _Anything_.

And then she saw.

Sagged against a wall corner, collapsed in a crumpled heap . . . Was what looked to be the remains of the school janitor. He was wearing the torn up uniform, and the trolley of cleaning equipment was nearby. And then an thought sparked like a lightbulb in Beth's head . . .

Didn't janitors carry keys?

There was only one way to find out, so she held the axe tightly and made her way over to the body in the corner, steps quiet and breathing laboured. She came to a crouch just in front of the body and studied him for what she was looking for.

There was a set of keys strapped to his waist belt, just like she'd expected. _Jackpot_.

She reached down for it slowly, eyes trained on the rotting man's face, afraid of him suddenly springing to life as a member of the undead, though he looked quite dead already. But you couldn't afford to take chances anymore. That was another one of the things Beth had learned over time.

She flinched at a particularly loud distant groan and knocked the keys with her thumb. It was only a small clatter thankfully, and the fallen janitor still didn't reanimate.

"Come on . . ." she whispered, making another reach for the keys. "Just a little more . . ."

Just a little further . . .

The set of keys slid off his unbuckled belt and Beth cupped them in her palms. "Got ya." she grinned, and then went back to the door to the pharmacy.

It was when she was stood in front of the locked door again, however, that she realised how _many_ keys there were to try out. There had to be well over a dozen, all different shapes and sizes. She would be here for days trying them all out!

If only she could work out which one was the master keyevery janitor was supposed to have . . . The one Jimmy had stolen to get them into the projection room for a secret makeout session once. She blushed at the memory. Perhaps not the best thing to be thinking about at the time. Oh, poor sweet Jimmy... Torn apart and lost at the farm. Never to be seen again.

The groans from down the corridor were increasing in volume, and Beth began to hear the shuffling of feet. _Shoot!_ She needed to act fast.

One narrow bronze key . . . Nothing. Another smooth silver one . . . Nothing again. This was going to take forever, and the distant snarls were only getting less distant by the minute.

She picked a chunky gold one next. The door remained locked. Then a smaller silver one. Again, nothing each time.

This was getting ridiculous.

Why did schools feel the need to have so many rooms!? She was willing to bet half of these keys were just for private lockers or closets.

If only she knew how to pick locks. She missed Daryl and his lock-picking abilities, and regretted not asking him to teach her. How she'd thought it was a useless skill before was beyond her. It was _perfect_ for situations like these. If only she'd asked him to teach her along with the hunting and tracking lessons . . .

But then again, Beth also thought that if she and Daryl had never been separated, she never would have needed to learn anyway, because he would have been there to do it. She wouldn't have had to rely on her own capability because she'd have him there to rely on.

 _You can't depend on anybody for anything, right?_

 _I can take care of myself._

But this time she would. So she reached for another key and tried it. Still no luck though, but she didn't give up, she would _never_ give up. Not now. Not ever. Because giving up was for the weak, and Beth wasn't weak.

Not in the slightest.

The groans were impossible to ignore now, and Beth looked up from the lock to gasp in horror... as a walker stumbled around the corner.

Her movements with the keys became more frantic, testing as quickly as she could, more walkers staggering after the first. She could take them. She _could_. But there was no telling how many there were in total, and there was nowhere to run this time. If only she could get this damned door open things wouldn't be so—

 _Clink!_ The sound of the lock unlocking with one faded brown key was music to Beth's ears. Unluckily though, it wasn't the _quietest_ sound in the world, and the walkers' full attention was drawn to it . . . And her.

She pulled the door open and darted in without hesitation, slamming it shut behind her and standing with her back pressed against it. The walkers growled loudly from behind the door and pressed up against it, paws bashing against the wood and all stockpiling their pressure to burst down the door.

Beth panicked.

One had smashed its hand through the glass in the door and was reaching in for her, forcing her to duck to avoid having her hair ripped out. Stupid hair, always in the way. Maybe she should just cut it off. Okay maybe not, but it needed to be tied up definitely. Having it down was not in any way practical.

She looked down at the axe in her hands, then slid it into the door slots, holding the door in place temporarily. But that didn't silence the walkers, as their snarls echoed even louder throughout the school building, and started the throbbing in Beth's head.

She ran further into the room, the axe serving as a decent method of safety for now, and searched the medicine shelves. The torch flared back to life under the pressure of her thumb, and she shone it along the few aisles of the pharmacy.

She took the necessities—bandages, painkillers, headache pills for that damned throbbing pain she got, and even some spare plastic (since glass was impractical in emergencies) syringes for Edwards and the serum. She stuffed as much as could fit into her bag and made a dart for the door when she remembered the hungry walkers on the other side. _Oh yeah._

 _Now,_ where was she supposed to go? That was the only exit! The only way out! . . .

Or was it?

 _There's always another way out._

Think. She needed to think, which was pretty hard when there was an array of walkers banging on the door, and a pulsing pain in her head.

Her head darted up instinctively, eyes spotting the entrance to a _ventilation shaft_ leading up above the room.

Perfect!

She strapped the bag onto her and knocked down one of the shelves to use as a lift to get up. She tried to force open the metal casing covering the hatch, but it was stuck. And there was no keyhole for her to stick a key in this time, and she doubted the bolt in her boot would be enough. She needed something with more force than her hands... Something stronger...

Something that was the only thing keeping the door shut.

Beth's eyes moved to the red axe that was slotted into the door and paled. _That_ would get the metal hatch open easily, but would release an army of the undead upon her as a consequence. She weighed her options, but found she had almost none. The axe was the only way.

"For the love of–!" she hissed, jumping down from the fallen shelf and making towards the poorly barricaded door.

Just one pull and they would be able to burst in.

One pull, and it could all be over.

One stupid movement of something sharp . . . And she could _die_.

An axe . . . _Scissors_. . . They were all the same. Both granted death passage to knock on her door . . . Could risk letting it in . . .

Only this time would be different. Because Beth was _ready_ to open the door for death, for she had a streak of ruthlessness now herself, and this time she was ready.

Ready for whatever was thrown at her.

She was a fighter. A survivor. A victor. And she didn't need Daryl or anyone else to be those things.

"I get it." she spat. And she did.

 _I can win._

The axe was pulled from its holding and Beth bounded back to the fallen shelf instantly, a crowd of snarling walkers right on her tail.

Wasting no time, she swung the weapon up and knocked the metal shaft open, taking out a walker in the process, then leaped up so that she was hanging from the entrance to the vent by her hands. It was a little awkward to hang on with a huge cast covering one of her wrists, but she managed. It wasn't exactly like she could afford to let go at the time, with all her friends gathered below.

She threw the axe up into the ventilation shaft and dragged herself up, muscles worn and aching, but not weak enough to allow herself to fall down into the sea of monsters below.

She was better than that.

She knew how to win now.

It was all only a twisted game, and never again would she allow the vulnerability of risking a checkmate again.

She wasn't losing again.

Having hauled her tired body up into the small space, Beth collapsed onto her stomach and breathed heavily, breaths forming clouds of condensation on the cold metal of the shaft. She lifted her head from pressed against the cool metal and gazed down the narrow passageway ahead. Obviously crawling was required, but Beth didn't complain. Not when she'd just so narrowly escaped death _again_.

If there wasn't a God, then Beth didn't know _who_ was giving her all this impossible luck Molly had pointed out her having.

 _When there's no more room in hell, the dead will walk the earth._

Only God could unleash these souls from hell onto the living. Only he could create such a vast plain of dystopia and ruin . . . _To see who could make it out._ Just like Noah and his ark. But not just alive . . . Still keeping a hold of their _humanity_. Because that's what a lot of people Beth had come across had lost.

Lost the very thing that made them human. And without that, Beth didn't see what was left.

She remembered what that old man, Dale, had said . . . _I can say when the world goes to shit, I didn't let it take me down with it._

 _Keeping our humanity . . . That's a choice._

A choice Beth had already made.

She would rather die clean than let the world chew her up and spit her out full of poison. She wanted to keep her humanity until the very end. _That_ was the choice she'd made.

"I'm human," she whispered into the emptiness of the cold ventilation shaft. "And I'll die that way . . . But not now."

She reached forward for the axe she had thrown down the shaft and crawled over to it. She tucked it into her belt and crawled down the narrow shaft.

If she thought the air was chilly before, it was _freezing_ in here, and Beth could feel the goosebumps forming on her skin beneath the long sleeved checked shirt she was wearing. The metal was just as bitingly cold, and she winced when her palm collided with something _wet_ when she pressed her hand down. Her brow furrowed and she squinted her eyes to see better in the dim lighting of the confined space. She'd dropped the flashlight back in the pharmacy room, she remembered with a groan, so she tried to figure out what the wetness she could feel was with little light.

 _What can ya smell?_

Beth instantly regretted sniffing the odd liquid, and she jolted back in disgust and hit her head against the top of the vent.

"Agh!" she groaned, rubbing the back of her head and trying to ignore the tiny spots of white forming around the edges of her vision. But that was the least of her worries, because that wetness her hand was planted in was definitely _not_ water . . .

It was blood.

Old, thick, strong smelling _blood_. Clumpy between her fingers as she wiggled them, and unbearably sticky. The overwhelming stench of decaying copper flooded her nostrils and she held in a choke, covering her mouth and nose with her sleeve. Where this rotting blood had come from was a mystery, since she couldn't see how walkers would get up here . . . But it wasn't completely impossible.

Nothing was impossible with them.

Even if it was a game, they always seemed to have the upper hand. Always making the clever moves, always taking out pieces with hardly any of their own being lost.

It was like they were _cheating_.

Cheating _death_ , they were.

Beth stilled in the vent and quietened her breathing. She listened, intently, deeply. For anything. The pumping of blood through her head... Her rapidly beating heart... She could hear her gut _screaming_ now, as well as feel it, and then she knew something was indeed very wrong.

Was there ever a time when it _wasn't_ wrong?

She crawled further down the ventilation shaft, knees and thighs sore from the rubbing of friction against them. Her hair fell into her face in oily thickets, lined with blood and sweat; and her breaths were loud and drifting down the space. The axe at her waist was bashing against the metal every now and then, and her boots were clicking against the sides as she moved, sending small, echoing taps down the vents.

Beth could feel the tension coating her skin, and shuddered at the cold.

The trail of blood was thickening as she crawled on, and patterning the base and walls of the shaft in messy, uneven zig-zags . . .

 _The pattern's all zigzaggy._

Beth stopped moving when she heard a soft dripping coming from just around the vent corner, her entire body stilling as she just listened. There was dripping, gnawing and crunching, and the sound of something shifting. And the gritty grunts audible confirmed Beth's thoughts, as did her very own eyes as she peered around the corner and saw exactly what she'd expected.

 _. . . Its a walker._

A walker sat crumpled against the side of the vent, devouring a body hungrily. Intestines being ripped out and forced into the creature's mouth, organs spilling out onto the shaft's floor and filling the cold air with a humid, sickly smell. A truly sickening sight, of death and horror.

Beth felt the bile rise in her throat and swallowed.

.

.


	12. To walk in the footsteps of our sheriff

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

 _"You gotta be quiet or you'll rouse it."_

 _"I_ am _being quiet._ You're _the one who started talking."_

 _"I'm not the one who's walkin' like an elephant and snappin' every twig in this wood."_

 _"It's not my fault your bow is so heavy. It's making my steps clumsier."_

 _"Yer_ already _clumsy, Greene."_

 _Daryl smirked and Beth pouted at him. She decided to ignore him and focus her attention on the walker just beyond the trees they were hiding behind. It was pre-occupied with some kind of animal it had found on the ground, so it was oblivious to the pair watching it._

 _Beth grinned and squeezed the handle of the crossbow in her hands._

 _"Easy," he rasped quietly in her ear, as she pointed the weapon clumsily. "You don't wanna end up screwing up an' shootin' yourself . . . Or_ me _."_

 _"You can shoot_ yourself _?" she asked critically, but with traces of a smirk on her lips._

 _"'Course you can. Did it to my foot first time I ever shot an arrow. S'nasty, I'll tell ya."_

 _She nearly giggled. "Somehow I can't picture Daryl Dixon shooting himself in the foot with his own crossbow. That'd be funny to see."_

 _"Yeah . . . Whatever," he grumbled._

 _"You're just jealous because I could be a better shot than you someday."_

 _"Sure. Now shut up, or that walker'll hear you comin'."_

 _"_ You _shut up then."_

.

.

Beth watched the walker feasting away on its meal from her crouch in the vent and let out a warm puff of air.

 _Quiet . . ._ She had to be completely quiet, or she'd rouse it. And there was hardly space here that there was in the woods to run away. So she had to be careful about this. It was a good thing she'd had such a good teacher, even though she had been his student for only a few days.

There wasn't nearly enough room to be swinging the axe around in here, but the bolt would do. So she reached down awkwardly and tried to pull it from inside her boot, as well as trying to be quiet as well. After about a minute of fiddly struggling, Beth managed to get a hold of the end of the arrow and slide it out into her hand. She pulled it up in front of her crouched form and squeezed its slender body.

Quiet.

Fast.

Unexpected.

This poor walker wasn't going to know what hit it. Because Beth Greene was coming for it, and she didn't take kindly to their kind. Their kind that had taken nearly everyone she cared about. Her mom . . . Shawn . . . Patricia . . . Jimmy . . . Endless amounts more that Beth would need more than the length of a standard novel to list. All gone. _Forever_. . . All because of _them_. They didn't deserve the mercy that came with humanity, because they had none of their own. They were just animals now. Beasts, monsters . . .

 _Demons_. And demons needed to be extinguished from the planet.

So Beth crawled towards the occupied walker with the bolt held in her hand and narrowed her eyes.

 _I'm sorry,_ she thought. Not a thought of mercy for the creature. _I'm sorry for what you were . . . For what you became._

And then she plunged the sharp head of the arrow into the walker's head just as it noticed her, and it slumped against the wall of the vent in defeat. Dead.

One pawn taken. A victory.

 _Eat that, Daryl. Clumsy doesn't equate to feeble. S_ he crawled on through the icky gut-covered base of the shaft with that pleased thought in her head.

The vent went on for ages, and Beth's throbbing headache was becoming almost unbearable. She thought about trying one of the headache pills she'd stashed when the shaft began to lighten, finally. There was another hatch leading down into a different room, and Beth crawled over to it and looked down. She was about to remove the axe from her belt and pull it open, but a sudden snarl from behind startled her.

Another walker, limbs torn apart and wasted, with fungi sprouting from its open body, dragged itself towards where she was. Its pupils were blown wide and wholly white, and Beth fumbled around for the axe to get the hatch open. But she wasn't fast enough because the hideous thing came crawling towards her at a speed she'd _never_ seen before from a _walker._

But somehow, this was different. This was unnatural.

 _No_ walker should be able to move that fast.

Something was very wrong about this.

Just before it launched itself at her at that incredible speed, she toppled onto the hatch in fright, forcing it open under her weight making her fall down into the room below . . . Directly onto _Morgan_.

He grunted under her, body sprawled out on the ground with her crumpled on top.

It took her a second to come to her senses before she grabbed him by his coat and rolled him to the side with her. Exactly as the walker from the vent came tumbling down too, and landed with a _splat!_ on the floor, having nothing to cushion its fall as she had, and lay in a pile of limbs, shaking and groaning.

Beth shifted from on top of Morgan and moved quickly to stab it in the head with the bolt, and it's crying ceased and it went still as death. She finally let out a sigh of relief and slumped her shoulders.

"I take it it was _you_ all those biters flocked towards earlier?" Morgan broke the silence, and Beth turned to him.

She nodded whilst breathing deeply, sweat dripping down her brow and neck. "They seem to be drawn to me a lot for some reason." she panted. "That's not so _lucky_ , I don't think."

"Not very lucky, no." he agreed.

She changed the subject. "Did you get what you came for?" she asked. "I got the medicine."

His eyes sparkled and he held up a large bag proudly. "Evidence's right here."

She smiled in turn.

"Good! Now we can go back an' meet Molly."

"Wonder how she's doin'. Hope she hasn't taken off on her own."

"Me too . . ."

.

.

"I used t'be _very_ religious." Morgan said, "Did all the stuff everybody else did . . . _Believed_ with every ounce of my being . . ."

"And then the turn happened . . ." she finished, "And you didn't believe so much anymore . . . I _do_ get it. And I don't blame you. I think we _all_ had a hard time keeping something like faith after this."

"You don't seem to." he pointed out.

She shrugged and smiled.

"Do you think you'd ever regain your faith?"

"I'm dunno." he answered honestly, "Can't say . . . I'd _like_ to. It'd be nice to be able to believe in somethin' like that again . . . But it's tough. Tough to believe."

"Tougher than dealing with walkers?" she raised an eyebrow and smirked.

He chuckled at that. "Crazy how killing the living dead is easier than believing in God."

"Crazy's just _normal_ these days."

"Like surviving a bullet to the head is?"

She smiled again. "Yeah . . ." she mumbled, "It's crazy . . . But it's real. I survived, and even if it is crazy or normal or whatever you wanna call it . . . I'm glad. I'm glad I'm alive."

Morgan hummed in agreement and took out a walker on the street with a long machete he'd taken from the armoury. The man took out the things not just well, but _gracefully,_ almost. His movements were fluid, limbs stretching out and practically _dancing_ as he eradicated any walker that got within a three-meter radius of him.

 _Cleared_ , she realised.

Morgan's most essential role in life was to exterminate every demon that had crawled up from hell. He was the fist behind the exorcism. And Beth thought _that_ was carrying out God's wishes, even if he didn't necessarily believe anymore.

Maybe he could. Eventually. If he saw that things weren't as hopeless and barren as he thought. If he could see the world through _her_ eyes instead of his own . . . Then he would see those good people she saw. Even when she closed her eyes, they were there, shining their goodness and competence onto all they crossed paths with. They had done a lot of things to survive, a lot that Beth regretted. But still . . . They were good.

That was her group . . . Her family.

 _Good_.

Her thoughts were pleasant until it suddenly all went to hell. Like it always did, sooner or later. And Beth froze on the spot when she heard the distinct sound of a _gun firing_ in the distance, from somewhere in the city. Morgan heard the gunshot too—it was kind of impossible to miss—and froze too.

That was it. A single gunshot echoing throughout the city.

But it was enough.

Beth tightened the strap of the bag containing the medicine and darted off in the direction that led out of Crawford. Out of the town of a failed civilisation . . . A broken community . . . A haven crafted with the intention of living up to the title, _haven_. But things went wrong. Things like that always went wrong. People tried to rebuild communities the way the world used to be, and they fell.

Like Woodbury, like the Prison.

The sanctuary fell, and the people were forced to rise. Unless they couldn't. Then they fell with the sanctuary. They either rose out of the fire, charred and burned but still _fighting_. . . Or were swallowed by the flames.

There would be a place someday that Beth would be able to call home again . . . But she knew now that she needed to rely on her _own_ strength, and not just that of a community. Dependency was not an option. You had to be able to fight on your own, without the safety of walls and normality. _You had to adapt._ Something the members of Grady Memorial Hospital had struggled with at first . . . But Beth knew would eventually be able to adapt.

It had taken _her_ long enough to adapt herself.

But she'd finally learned it took more than a few well-bolted buildings, strong walls, and no walkers to feel safe. Safety was the _people_ , not the haven. Safety was the people you would lay down your life for, and fight to protect no matter what. People you understood, laughed with, _loved_.

Group.

Beth's _group_ was her safety, and she knew she would never sleep feeling completely safe without them sleeping beside her—Maggie snuggled on one side, and Daryl on the other. She nearly blushed at the thought of the rugged hunter cuddling up beside her like a nesting bird, similar to how they all had on that long winter on the road after the farm . . . And she shook the thought away, as calming as it was.

As safe as they made her feel, it was best to keep thoughts of them out of her head for now . . . or it got too much. Missing them got too much . . . Loving them.

What Beth would give to hold baby Judith one more time in her arms and sing her to sleep, though the baby had probably nearly definitely perished in the fall of the prison, on what felt like a hundred moons ago.

 _They're alive!_

They _had_ to be.

"Hold up, Beth!" Morgan called from several feet behind, the sound of weapons bashing together in his pack as he ran, but Beth didn't slow.

She carried on running, desperately, blindly. Because no matter what happened, she was _not_ losing any more people. No more.

Molly's silhouette became visible as Beth and Morgan ran down the streets of Crawford, and she turned her head to give them a startled wave.

"You hear that!?" the woman called, "Loud ass gunshot! They've gotta be in some kind'a deep shit to be pulling that!"

Beth ran scampered right past Molly, not even stopping to say a word, and made for the skyscraper they'd last seen Shepherd and the others. _Please,_ , her mind cried, _Please be okay!_ But she wouldn't doubt them. Not this time. Because they had proven by hiding in the boat at the docks that they were capable of making it without her, if only for a short while.

It might be crazy to believe in them, but Beth did.

A cowardly doctor . . . A freshly amputated man who could bleed to death at any moment . . . An asthmatic girl prone to panic attacks, who could barely hold a weapon . . . And an overbearing, stubborn, police officer whom Beth's family had used to trade for her.

They could do it, Beth knew they can. They could. They just needed to have faith in themselves, like she did in them.

And as she leaped over the barrier of dead bodies and walkers that separated Crawford from the rest of Savannah . . . She halted.

A h _uge herd of walkers_ swarmed around the skyscraper the others were. Masses of rotted bodies pressed up against the sides of the building.

Beth visibly paled. Whatever had possessed her to tell them to fire a _gun_ as a signal!? That had been insane! The sound must have drawn every walker in the city! There was no telling if they'd even gotten out before the herd had come!

"Hey!" Molly said suddenly, "Isn't that . . . ?" Beth followed Molly's finger up to the building's pinnacle and felt the rest of the colour drain from her face.

She could _see_ them up there. Shepherd . . . Edwards . . . All four of them. Doing what looked to be fighting something off, and barricading the door to the inside of the building. _Oh no_. If the walkers had gotten into the building and were piling up onto the roof . . . _No_.

Beth was filled with the sudden desire to protect them. To keep them safe.

They weren't her original group, they weren't her family, hell they weren't really even her _friends_. But yet . . . She'd brought them out into this. Their blood was on her hands if they died. They were her _responsibility_. And she would do anything in her power to protect them, even though the odds weren't really in her favour right now as she stood staring at a giant horde of every remaining human's worst nightmare. She _wanted_ to save them, but _how_? How was she supposed to conquer the impossible to save her companions?

She wondered if this was how Rick felt a lot of the time. Reluctant and struggling to make the right decision for the benefit of the others. Deciding whether or not to let Randall in the barn live . . . Keeping them all alive through the winter on the run . . . Protecting the prison from threat . . . The inmates, Merle, The Governor . . .

Beth no longer envied Rick in that moment. No longer envied how he had a say in everything, and how everyone listened to him, respected him. How his opinion _mattered,_ and he was important.

He was a leader. And Beth had always admired that. His ability to somehow always do the right thing, or what was best for the group.

Rick was a leader. And Beth was far from the authority that he was.

But she could _try_ to be the figurehead that he was. Could try to be the fair and just person that had led them away from the burning farm and into a future, shaking the dust from beneath their feet as a warning to those who crossed them . . . Beth could try to walk in the footsteps of the closest thing to a hero she'd ever seen.

Walk in the footsteps of Rick Grimes.

"Molly." she said sharply, and Molly nearly flinched at the fierceness in her tone.

"Beth?" she stumbled uncharacteristically over the word.

"We're gonna save them." she said, "An' I know just the way how, because of you."

Molly blinked. "How?" she asked.

It was clear that Molly didn't think the Grady bunch were getting out of this . . . _Alive_ at least. But Morgan looked like maybe he had _some_ faith in her.

His figure was huge and towering in comparison to Beth's, powerful and capable . . . But he looked at her with a gleam in his eyes that told her he would follow her. No matter how crazy or stupid, where she lead . . . He would follow.

She flashed a great big grin.

"We're gonna ring a bell."

.

.


	13. Not ashes

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Molly's mouth formed a small _'o'_ shape in realisation, and Morgan smiled. Beth's grin was so wide it probably looked like it could break her face, but she didn't care. All that was important was getting Shepherd and the others out of the building alive. And this plan was the closest to perfect they were going to get.

Of course, like usual, Molly had her rebukes.

"It's a good idea and all . . ." she started, "But what if they're already dead way before we even ring the bell? The geeks could be gnawing away at them right now!"

 _Geeks_. Not really the best description for the walkers, Beth thought. They possessed no kind of knowledge, that's why they were so _stupid_. . .

Stupid enough to fall for this.

"They could be," Beth agreed, "But there's no way of proving that. And unless it's an absolute that they're dead, we're not giving up."

"So what do we do?" Morgan asked, earning a genuine smile from her.

"I told them to go to where we left our cars if things went south. Morgan, you go there and wait for them, also make sure no one steals or already has stolen the cars. And Molly . . . You're coming with me."

"Great." the elder blonde scowled.

Morgan nodded, smile still on his features, but his eyes were somber. "I won't go without you," he said then.

 _I won't leave without you._

"No," Beth shook her head, now with a faint smile, "If things get out of hand, you gotta go with them. I'll find you all again. Just do what you need to do to keep them safe."

He took her hands in his and squeezed them. "I'll protect 'em. You have my word," he said earnestly. "Now stay safe, an' don't do anything reckless."

She grinned wider. " _Everything_ I do is reckless."

"That's true." he snorted, "But I mean it when I say be careful. I know you will though . . . You remind me of someone I met a long time ago. He was . . . _Is_ a good man."

Beth squeezed his hands back and nodded. "I won't die," she promised.

 _Not now._

Molly gave her a sharp elbow and Beth pulled her hands out of Morgan's. "C'mon, Lady Luck." she called, "Time's a-wastin'!"

Beth passed Morgan's retreating figure a glance before turning back to look at the walker-infested skyscraper. She pulled the hair tie from around her wrist and used it to secure her unbound hair in a low side ponytail like she used to wear, before Judith had taken a liking to tugging roughly at it. She readjusted the bandage and held the axe in her right cast-clad hand, eyes narrowed, and feral grin still on her features.

"Game on." she declared.

.

.

The streets of Savannah on route to the nearest bell tower were empty, most walkers in the city having swarmed around the skyscraper the Grady bunch were hiding atop of, so Beth and Molly ran without much interference . . . Until three walkers stumbled out from around a corner and caught the pair off guard.

Beth sliced one's head off with the axe instinctively, blood shooting out in thick trails of red droplets, and then went for the other one that Molly wasn't tackling with Hilda. However, a sharp feminine cry caught her attention, and she whipped her head over to her companion after taking care of the second walker, and her eyes widened in dread at what she saw.

Molly stabbed the walker she was struggling with in the head with the end of her pickaxe and shook the blood and entrails off her weapon. She looked mighty feral standing there all covered in guts, but that wasn't why Beth was staring . . .

Marked upon Molly's left arm, just below the wrist . . . Was a hollow bleeding indent where the flesh had been torn away, left to bleed massively in floods.

 _In the shape of teeth_. No. _Fangs_ in fact. A large bite mark marring the skin of Molly's arm . . .

"Shit . . ." Molly hissed, dabbing at the wound with her orange jacket, the orange being dyed a deep red by the endless blood flow. "Shit shit shit shit . . . _Fuck_!"

Beth could find no words to describe how she was feeling in that moment . . .

Terror . . . Horror . . . Trepidation. Her mind was spinning and her lips lay parted open in utter disbelief at what had happened. Her hands itched on the handle of the axe, fingers almost whispering . . . _Do it. You said you wanted to try. Prove that_ . . . _Do it._ It could work. It could. But without the miraculous serum Edwards carried in his briefcase, which now rested on the pinnacle of a building, surrounded by hungry corpses . . . There was little hope for success.

Hope.

Beth had always clung to that word so closely. The hope that if she did just that, _hoped_ , then everything would wind up alright. One could only hope in this kind of world . . . Hope for a better future. To rise up from the black abyss of death that claimed the world now, and shine a light. Hope _created_ that light, and it was the closest thing to magic Beth knew.

Because magic was a thing of fairytales . . . Hope was real.

". . . Molly?" she whispered, the two syllables coming out insanely quiet. An utter of desperation; a plea.

Molly didn't say anything. Just stood, as still as a statue, and stared. Stared at the gaping hole in her arm, in her life. Because she knew as well as Beth did that that hole was as good as a spacial black hole, that would suck in her life.

Beth's fingers itched on the axe handle again, the urge stronger this time. The thrum dancing through her fingertips like electricity, fire coursing through her veins again. But only this time she knew. Knew it was the liquid from the spring of eternal life, that sustained her being, and prevented the black hole in her head from sucking her in. Prolonging her existence in this hellish plain, which probably should make it a type of _poison_. A poison that was keeping her alive. The irony. But Beth remembered that she craved the life she was being forced to endure by the poison. Craved existence in this hellish plain . . . Craved it so harshly that even a soul-sucking tunnel, piercing her brain wasn't enough to ease that craving.

Beth Greene was a fighter, but she was more than that . . . She was a soldier. And the serum was the elixir that had granted her what she guessed could be called eternal life. It was as close to immortality humanity had been able to achieve, and if it was enough to keep her alive just long enough so she could see her family again . . . even if it was one time . . . It was a brief immortality well served.

"So this is it, huh?" Molly said after a while. "This is what it all comes down to in the end. Just a bite . . . Just a bite and it's all over."

 _Just a bite._

That was all it took. And it was over.

Molly went on.

"It's silly when ya think about it." she said, "That no matter how hard you fight every single day, no matter what horrible things you do, or how many times you betray people t'save your own skin . . . In the end, it all comes down to _this_. Always the same. Inevitable."

"Not always," Beth argued, her tone not harsh, but soft.

She couldn't feign coldness. Not now. Softness was in order here, and it was this that proved there was always a place for softness. _Always_.

"It's not always like this." she said quietly, and Molly laughed.

A cold, bitter laugh, that made Beth want to scurry and crawl into herself. Made her feel small, and weak again. She hated feeling like that. Because it wasn't true, she knew that. But sometimes just a little thing would make her stop and think: _What if it_ is _true? What if I am just that? The thing I wish to be the least?_. . .

 _Weak._

"Not for you, I guess." Molly shrugged, the blood pouring down her arm and dripping down onto the street. "I could never be as lucky as you are."

Beth sensed it hadn't been meant that way, but she sensed a slight cruelty behind those words. A sharp sting. Beth _was_ lucky. Lucky in most senses. Lucky to be alive, to be fighting, to be hoping. Molly hadn't been so lucky, like many of the others Beth's group had lost along the way . . .

"You don't have to die." she whispered.

"Not exactly like I have a choice, is it?"

". . . There's always a choice."

Beth's fingers twitched around the hilt of the weapon she held, and she offered it up to Molly slowly, gaze hesitant . . . Guiltily.

"That the choice one of yours made?" Molly asked, "The Asian guy with the arm stump? Chopped it off 'cause of a bite?"

". . . He chose life." Beth confirmed, resolution forming in her gaze as she held the axe over to Molly mode firmly. "He chose not to let the world trick him into taking the easy route out. Didn't choose death."

" _Death_ is the _easy_ route?" Molly cocked a brow, uncertain.

The blood was dropping into the concrete in loud, echoing drops that rung in Beth's head.

Life and death.

Simple and difficult.

Who knew which was which anymore?

"Everyday you have to fight if you wanna live, narrowly escape death almost every second. To a lot of people . . . Death is a means of escape from that."

"So why do people choose to live if that's the case?" asked Molly.

Beth thought about her answer, eyes trained on the axe in her hands. Why . . . Why choose to live?

 _Why?_

"Because they live in the hope that there's somethin' out there that's worth fighting for."

Molly dropped her bitten hand so it fell at her side, blood leaking down to her fingertips and dripping there, and looked up at the sky. "Hope, huh?" she muttered, "Pretty dumb reason to stick around in this fucking dump for longer. Kinda foolish really."

"Dumb, maybe. But not foolish. Hope can be a lot of things . . . But most of all it's powerful. I've read about it so many times in books, seen it in movies and even in real life too sometimes . . . I've seen what it can do." Beth smiled. "It can inspire a whole nation to fight against injustice, inspire a single man to speak up against prejudice . . . Hope is powerful. _Magic_. An' if you believe in it . . . It's something to live for."

 _Something to live for._

Molly shifted her gaze from the sky then and settled it on her. Arrogant, brash eyes now neutral; stoic. Before the side of her mouth curved up into a tiny, half smile.

"You're somethin' else, aren't you . . . ?" she smirked.

Beth didn't say anything.

"I've seen a lotta people come an' go, all kinds of bad, selfish, evil . . . But you . . . You're somethin' else. Somethin' . . . I don't know . . . But you make me think that maybe . . . There's a chance."

"A chance for _what_?"

" . . . I don't know."

That answer was highly disappointing to Beth, and it must've shown on her face because Molly sniggered.

"Probably not the answer ya wanted, but believe me, you're somethin'. I jus' don't know _what_ yet . . . And because of this damned bite . . . Chances are I'll _never_ know."

"You could still . . ." Beth held the axe up again, eyes nearly pleading now.

Still _what_? _Chop off your arm and live to fight another day?_ She supposed that's what she was suggesting, but somehow she thought that Molly wouldn't accept that. Molly was proud, fierce, strong. And not only that . . . She was confident in herself. Beth was too, but not wholly. There were still these tiny little doubts that came up now and then that made Beth shudder and chew on her lip. Of how she wanted so badly to be stronger. To _change_. And then _his_ voice would echo into her head and it would be a little bit more alright again.

 _You did._

Beth wasn't strong in the sense that Daryl was. Or Michonne, or Carol, or Maggie. She was just, in all simplicity, herself. Beth. And she remembered a quote from one of her classes—though she absolutely couldn't remember which one—that seemed pretty relevant right now. Beth hadn't understood what it meant when her professor had said it, but she did now.

 _'The hardest challenge is to be yourself in a world where everyone is trying to make you somebody else.'_

In a world where everybody was trying to shape her into a murderer, Beth held onto what was left of the timid, kind-hearted farm girl she should have left behind in that burning farm, because even now she refused to let go of the very essence that made her who she was. Not just who she was then though, who she _still_ was, even now.

 _Stay who you are, not who you were._

Sometimes . . . You found that what you were, is just the same as what you are now, all along. That same fire burning away beneath the surface, now only just a little bit stronger, and a little bit brighter. The same flame, watered down to only an ember, that had grown up again fiercer and brighter. Changed . . . But yet not.

Say who you are. Make the choice for yourself. Don't choose to be what you fear to be. Choose to rise up from the ashes like a phoenix, shake the dust from your wings, and fly. Like she'd told Daryl long ago under the night sky, with the flames of a burning moonshine shack behind them.

 _We're not ashes, Daryl_ . . . _We're_ fire _._

Tall. Hungry. Powerful. _We choose what we want to be_. Ruthless and destructive, burning innocents and destroying villages . . . Or a means of light to the lost. Shining light and warmth down onto those that needed it . . . On those who need only _ask_.

 _We should burn it down. So it can rise up into something better_ . . . _And so can we._

"Choose, Molly." Beth pressed, the axe in her hands and the dripping of infected blood ringing in her ears. Fire coursing through her veins along with the throbbing of both her heart and head. _Choose_ —life, or death.

And Molly looked right into Beth then, eyes big and searching, and put her hand over Beth's on the axe handle . . . And lightly pushed it away.

"For once . . ." Molly trailed, "For once . . . I'm gonna do what's right. I'm gonna do something for someone else."

 _Say who you are._

"I'm going up to that bell tower, and I'm gonna ring that bell for you. For you _and_ your people. An' I'll do it with the knowledge that even if . . . Even _when_ I die . . . People like you are out there still fighting to live . . . Just over some silly, but not _dumb_ thing like _blind hope_."

Beth lowered the axe and regarded Molly with her eyes fixed and shimmering.

And the elder blonde grinned. "I'm gonna save someone's fucking ass for a change." she declared.

 _That_ was Molly's choice. She didn't choose life or death . . . She chose to sacrifice. No . . . Sacrifice made her sound too much like an animal going to the slaughterhouse. Molly wasn't an animal. She was a fighter, a soldier . . . She was atoning for her sins. Atoning for everything. Every life lost because of her, every cruel snigger, every lack of belief. She chose to crush all of those and leave her memory shining with nobility and bliss. But not because she believed in hope . . .

Because she believed in _Beth_. And Beth believed in hope, so that was close enough.

So Beth smiled. Another one of her true, honest smiles, and blinked away the tears that were forming. Not because there was anything wrong with crying, just because she had said something once to someone . . . _Promised_ essentially, that she didn't cry anymore. And although technically she had broken that promise several times already, she still wanted to hold onto it. Because it was _him_ she had promised it to. Him she had looked at, and said: _Look at me, there's strength in me._

 _Strength like you, like Maggie, like everybody. I just want somebody to see it._

"You're good," Beth whispered finally.

Good.

Not magnificent, not wondrous . . . Not even anything extravagant really . . . Just good. And that one word was enough because it meant so much more than any long sentence she could have stuttered out.

 _There's still good people._

There are.

Some are just more hidden than others. That concealed goodness tucked way down beneath a rough and tough exterior. Like the undeniable softness beneath worn leather and cigarette smoke. A curious sweetness like no other Beth had ever known. Warmth flickering away in icy blue eyes . . . The gentle tug of lips in an unmistakable amused smirk . . . Giving her a first drink to remember, and remember with fondness whenever the moon shone down its glow that was not quite warm, but not cold. It was _that_ , that proved to Beth that good-will ran a lot deeper than she'd originally thought. That it could be immensely present even in the coldest of people outwardly, who could just so happen to be one of the kindest people out there, on the inside.

Unseen, but shining behind an armour of leather and smoke.

What had changed _her_ mind?

Oh . . . If only he knew . . .

But he _didn't_. Of course, he didn't know. Why would such a thought ever cross his self-loathing, harsh, critical mind? He thought he was nobody, nothing . . . So what would make him think she saw any differently? And god . . . How differently she saw indeed.

She saw a lot of things differently now, because of that. And she saw _Molly_.

"No . . ." Molly shook her head in disagreement, "Not _good_. That's the thing I'm definitely not . . . But with this, I think . . . Maybe I can be something a little better than just plain shitty."

"Definitely better than plain shitty." Beth agreed.

Molly smiled at that, the most genuine smile Beth had ever seen her wear. "Thanks, that means a lot coming from you," she said earnestly, before reaching behind her and unstrapping her pack.

She handed the bag to Beth, who unzipped it and peeked inside. It was filled with cans of food and bottles of water. She also stared down at her pickaxe for a while, seemingly debating something in her head . . . Before holding it out to the younger girl too.

Beth stared at the offering with amazement, eyes huge and blinking. "You're giving me . . . ?" she choked on the words.

Molly ran a hand through her short blonde hair and stared at her beloved weapon. "Normally I'd never dream of handing away my Hilda like this . . . But it's not exactly like I'm gonna need her for much longer. I'd hate to leave her all alone after I . . . But if she's with you . . . I think you'll take good care of her."

Strapping the pack of food onto her body along with the one filled with medicine, her body was carrying a great load now, but it didn't matter. Because that load would help the others, and keep them alive. And that's what they were fighting for.

And as for Hilda . . . Hesitantly, Beth reached out and accepted the silver and yellow pickaxe. She squeezed its handle and gazed at Molly sadly.

"Thank you," she whispered, mirroring her previous thanks. "I'll take good care of her."

"No need for thanks, jus' use her to keep those people alive."

"I will."

"I know ya will." Molly pulled her orange sleeve down over her bloody arm, resisting the urge to wince at the pain. "I was wrong about you. You're not a burden . . . You're the force that drives those people—The hope. They wouldn't'a made it this far without you, an' they definitely won't make it any further without you."

Her next sentence drew a pang of pain from Beth's heart, and she squeezed the bag of food and water.

"They need you."

 _I need you._

 _You can't depend on anybody for anything, right?_

Wrong.

"We all need each other."

Molly smirked. "Then do 'em justice and get to them before they get themselves killed on top of that building. Whilst I go ring that motherfucking bell!"

With an awkward shrug, Beth offered Molly her own axe with the red handle, and she accepted it. She forced her smile to widen at the woman's departure, though really she was very sad to see her go. Luck only favoured certain individuals, it seemed . . . Individuals who weren't called Molly . . . But _Beth_.

"Take care," she said, as if Molly wasn't walking to her doom. As if she'd see her again very soon, sass and attitude and all . . .

Like this wasn't their final conversation.

"You can count on it." Molly nodded. ". . . You too."

And with that . . . She was off. Running down the street and leaping up the ladder to a building, vanishing into the distance in a blur of vivid orange. Beth guessed that would be the last time she saw the young woman with the short hair almost as blonde as her own . . . And she wasn't wrong.

 _I'm glad I didn't say goodbye._

She always had hated goodbyes.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

*clasps hands together in apology* I'm sorry Molly! I truly am! And I'm sorry to those who liked her! I liked her too, but her choosing her final act to be a heroic one, that's a part of her redemption. It's her showing she wants a say in who she is. She chose to save Beth and the others. She didn't have to. She _chose_ to. And whilst it's been a short ride we've had with the character, let's bow our heads in silence and respect her... Like Beth _didn't_ get in the ending credits after 5x08. Whoops, sorry my Team D side is showing!

I hope you enjoyed this slightly emotional chapter! Leave a review and tell me what you thought (pls don't kill me for killing Molly.)


	14. Follow her towards something better

**RUNNING BLIND**

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.

Beth jogged along the rooftops of the abandoned city of Savannah, the load she carried upon her back heavy, but the weight on her heart thrice the weight. She held Molly's beloved pickaxe, Hilda, in her right hand tightly, and her head began to throb when the sound started.

The _chiming_.

Behind where Beth was running from, the large bell atop of the eastern bell tower chimed loudly, each _clash!_ ringing loudly in her ears. She tried not to think about _who_ was ringing that bell, and instead focused on running faster, her feet leaping over small gaps in the roofs as she sailed over the city.

The noise from the bell hadn't caught only _her_ attention though, and the walkers in the streets below lifted their rotting heads and began to stagger in the direction of the deafening sound. Beth saw them hauling their decayed, horrific bodies across the pavements as she hopped from building to building, groans loud and arms outstretched blindly reaching out. It was sickening. Completely sickening, and no matter how many times she saw giant herds of them like this, it didn't change how utterly foul it was. They were the reason things were like this. The reason the world had burned and the people in it had died in the fire. The reason almost everyone Beth loved was dead.

 _Almost_.

Not everyone. Not all of them were dead. Some were still out there, she liked to believe, still fighting . . . Still striving to live. Because she liked to think she had taught at least _one_ of those somebodies that life still held meaning. What she'd been trying to say with every little comment: _They're alive,_ and _There's still good people_ , and even _It's beautiful_. She had been tying to say, that there were still good things left.

Still reasons.

 _Clang!_ The bell chimed away even louder, and the walkers followed after its wake unknowingly, that it was all a grand scheme. A system. A way of herding them, successfully; controlling.

Manipulating their playing pieces.

Beth ran as far as she could along the closely spaced rooftops until she came to a much larger gap that she couldn't cross by just jumping. She stared down into the walker-filled abyss and frowned. The only way across . . . was a large metal sign connecting the two buildings. It looked relatively sturdy, but the coating of rust and occasional creak it made didn't do much to boost Beth's certainty. But with the skyscraper where the others were (or had already fled) in sight just ahead, what choice did she really have?

 _If it feels easy, don't do it,_ was what Carl had told her were some of his Mom's dying words. _Don't let the world spoil you,_ Beth imagined Lori saying.

Easy wasn't always the right choice, and this certainly didn't feel easy. So did that mean she should do it?

She remembered Lori's tight grip on her as she tried to pry her away from the swarmed Patricia, who just wouldn't let go of her hand. Would Lori, who saved her life that day, want her to do this? Want her to risk throwing her precious, easily destructible, life away? The woman who'd run her fingers through Beth's blonde hair and stroked her cheeks, telling her that saying everything would be okay wouldn't help. Lori, who like Maggie, had wrapped her arms around her that day she'd taken the broken mirror piece to her wrist, and held on so tight without letting go. Afraid that if she let go, Beth would just float away. Lori, the woman Beth had spent countless winter nights cuddled up beside like a pair of nesting birds, squeezing each other's hands, talking, laughing, _being_. . .

Would Lori Grimes, the first person to have seen into Beth truly, to have seen the potential hero within . . . want her to do _this_? Want her to unleash that heroism?

And Beth looked at the skyscraper just ahead and knew what the answer would be.

 _Don't let the world spoil you._ Don't be the coward who runs in the face of danger. Be the hero. Like Rick, like Daryl. Beth needed a hero, but there wasn't one around to give her their heroism . . . So she would become one herself. The image of Lori Beth had preserved in her mind smiled, and her heart ached as she imaged her lips moving to say . . . _Be the hero you want to be. Be a_ heroine _._

 _Be that girl who looked at her reflection in the broken mirror and saw the blood running down her wrists . . . And chose to_ live _._

Reaching for the straps of both packs she wore, Beth pulled the strings and fastened them together tightly around her torso, preventing them from falling easily. She tucked Hilda into the space between her back and the packs and tightened the bind that tied her hair. She took a deep breath, ran a finger down the scar on her cheek—a sort of comforting action she'd developed recently—and exhaled.

She put her the heel of her boot on the sign first, testing her weight before placing her whole foot on. The sign creaked a little, causing her to wince, but didn't move, so she added another foot. When the old metal remained silent, she placed her hands on the rusty railing and began to move along it very slowly.

Her head pounded in sync with her heart, and the hard plaster of the cast on her wrist rubbed across the dirty metal, creating small screeching sounds that pierced Beth's ears. Like the piercing shrill sound of a nail placed to glass.

 _Halfway_. She may as well have been back at the start, because she felt no closer to the end than when she'd started. She didn't even dare look down.

It was when she was halfway, however, that the sign began to creak more. Her heart-rate sky-rocketed at the sound and her stomach did great huge flips as the sign began to shake under her weight. She took another small step and could feel the thing about to come crashing down. About to make a run for the end, the metal snapped just behind her and the sign started falling . . . Falling _down_ into the sea of walkers below! She ran along the falling bridge way and made a leap for the other building, colliding with the brick wall and having the wind knocked out of her upon impact.

She grunted and groaned as she struggled to hold on, and felt the cruelty of her own singing voice entering her throbbing head; effectively _taunting_ her.

 _Hold on, hold on, you gotta hold on._

The song lyrics echoed through her head as sweat dripped down her brow and into her eyes. She tilted her head and wiped it on the collar of her shirt, feeling her arms trembling.

A warm ocean breeze blew through the air then, coating her sweat-clad body and making her shake. _Hold on, hold on._ Why was her own voice so taunting then? The memory of her singing couldn't have annoyed anyone more than _her_ in that moment.

"No . . . !" she choked against the hard wall, "I won't . . . Not now . . . I won't go down . . . Not like this!"

Not without knowing what happened to _them_ whilst she was left in the back of a car. Not until she had an answer to— _Where were you?_ _Why weren't you there with me?_

 _Why was I all alone?_

So Beth swung her leg up onto a drainpipe and panted heavily, more sweat dripping down her face, as well as something dark and coppery . . . Great. The damn bullet wound had re-opened again. She made a mental reminder to get Edwards to stitch the thing up better, that is if he was still out there.

He was. They all were.

 _They're alive._

And so was she.

She clung to the wall tightly with her legs and arms, before reaching back cautiously and taking Molly's pickaxe out. She swung its sharp point hard into the wall, cracking a few bricks, and breathed.

If this didn't work . . . She didn't even want to imagine what would happen.

 _Don't think. Just do._

She pushed the sharp end of the axe hard into the wall and kicked off, sliding down like a zip wire with loud crunches of breaking bricks. The wind blew onto her face and through her hair as she slid down, and she resisted the urge to squeal, half out of fear and an odd kind of thrill.

She landed at the bottom on a hard bit of ground beside a waste bin and fell onto her back, the two packs cushioning her crumpled fall. Her breathing came out in harsh, thick pants, and she clutched Hilda's handle tightly, holding it to her chest.

So far so good. She hadn't landed in a splat at the bottom. Now she just had to make her way through a sea of walkers that were intently following the chimes of a bell, and hope they didn't try to bite a chunk out of her. Her eyes opened and she pushed her lips together in a firm line.

 _If it feels easy, don't do it._

This was as far from easy as Beth could think.

She picked herself up from the floor and pressed against the wall, slinking back and trying not to draw attention to herself. But she couldn't just go out there as she was. They would notice. They always did. She needed something to help blend in . . . Something that would work as a camouflage . . .

Something like the dead walker she saw slumped beside her in front of the bin.

She grinned and kneeled down beside it, tucking the pickaxe back into the packs and shoving her hands into the creature's torn open abdomen. She winced and bit down on her lip to suppress expressing her disgust out loud, and wiped the slimy guts and rotted intestines all onto her front. It was repulsive. Disgusting. And everything else that meant absolutely _gross_. But Beth thought it was better to feel icky and abhorrent than to be dead.

Smearing walker blood and dirt from the ground on each cheek with her fingers, she stood back up and shuddered. She didn't want to get used to this. Rick and Glenn must have felt just as awful as she did when they'd done it, on their tales from escaping Atlanta. Beth had always loved hearing those stories. Of how Rick had led the group out of the fallen city and essentially saved as many of them as he could.

She'd always loved hearing those stories, and now . . . She had some of her own to tell when she found them again.

Beth balled her fists tightly and walked out into the herd of the undead, staggering past them in a slow and walker-like manner, thankful that none seemed to notice her as something other than what they were. They were all walking towards the sound of the bell, Beth going the opposite direction, but still, none turned on her. The ones she brushed past merely groaned and continued on their way.

She carried on like that for a while, striding towards the skyscraper that wasn't surrounded by walkers anymore, all of them now marching towards the bell tower . . . Which had stopped ringing.

 _Molly_. . . Beth wanted to sob.

 _So much better than plain shitty._

Beth sauntered through the herd and nearly breathed out in relief when the numbers finally began to drop as she neared the skyscraper. How was she even supposed to know if they were still up there though? They could have taken the advantage of the bell and made a run for it, meeting Morgan at the cars. How was Beth to know where they were . . . ?

And that's when she saw it.

The _sign_ on the side of the building, words marked in blood drawn out across the grey plaster.

 _BETH. GOT THEM. GO TO MEETING PLACE. —MORGAN._

Beth's heart pounded and she squeezed her fists. A message, for her. _Her name_ , written in blood, with a memo entirely for her. _GLENN GO TO TERMINUS. —MAGGIE . . . GLENN . . . GLENN . . ._ Never Beth . . . Never her little sister's name . . . Why?

Because Maggie had given up on her a long time ago. Maybe they all had. But that didn't stop Beth from believing in _them_. And now, with this note from Morgan, written with her name right across the top . . . Beth was filled with the feeling that _she_ was important too.

She hadn't been forgotten or presumed dead.

Beth blinked back the tears of happiness that had begun to form and strode on towards where they had left their vehicles. She wasn't forgotten, she was worth believing in. Worth holding on to.

 _Hold on, hold on._

.

.

"How long do we wait?"

"As long as we have to."

". . . What if she's not coming back?"

"She is."

Dr. Steven Edwards listened to the others' conversation but didn't contribute. He just leaned against the steel body of the car and chewed on the skin around his thumb. Occasionally, he passed quick glances towards the heart of the city where they'd last seen Beth and wondered. Wondered if even she, who seemed almost invincible, could make it out of that.

He clutched the hilt of the knife she'd given him tightly, beads of sweat gathering on his white knuckles as he squeezed, passing more glances at the inner city as he did.

"She could make it," he heard Effy say hopefully, "We've seen what she can do. She's tough."

" _Very_." the man, Morgan, agreed with her.

Edwards had watched the previously solitary man dip his hands into the body of a fallen rotter and paint a message onto the side of the building he'd rescued them from . . .

A message for Beth.

He'd told them of her plan to set the bell off, and how she'd gone running with the other woman, Molly. Would they ever come back? Edwards honestly didn't know. But he thought, that maybe this time . . . He could believe.

Believe in _her_.

"Do the cars still work?" Tanaka inquired, as Shepherd turned the key in the ignition and one of the cars roared to life.

"That one sure does." he grinned at the action.

"Hey listen. I think she will . . . But what do we actually do if Beth _doesn't_ come back?" Shepherd asked, her resolve weakening with every passing hour.

"She _will_ ," Effy reassured her. "We should wait, no matter how long it takes, 'cause she will."

Edwards thought the girl's sudden undying loyalty to Beth was a little confusing and rapid, but he didn't question it. He supposed she must have gotten under her skin, and made her question her beliefs of reality a little. Beth did that. Made you see things just a bit differently. Opened your eyes and made you think . . . _What if?_

Even Dawn hadn't been immune to that aspect of her.

Effy passed a tiny smile. " _I'll_ wait. She saved my life so many times already, and she didn't have to. Didn't have to save any of us, but she did. So for that . . . I'll wait."

"Me too." Morgan nodded, tucking his hands into the large pockets of his coat. ". . . She saved my life as well."

Something about the way he said it made Edwards think that he didn't mean in an entirely _literal_ way.

Tanaka chuckled then. "Does that a lot, don't she? Save people. Has a weird way of doing it since I'm missing an arm now from it . . . But it's 'cause of her I'm not one of those things now. So I'm grateful."

Edwards readjusted his glasses and sighed. _Grateful_. That's what he was, he supposed. Grateful to have been saved by the girl he'd taken in under his wing back in Dawn's cruel system, whom he'd used-no, _betrayed_ to save his own skin. He knew that look she'd given him after that act all too well, the sheer look of disgust, of disappointment. A look that spat . . . _Coward_. He knew he was a coward, but _her_ knowing that too hadn't sat well with him.

He envied how she went against the system he'd been trapped in for years, and refused to back down. Envied her willpower. Her ability to stand up and not back down, not even from Dawn.

That itself had been a strength, and that was what he envied.

How did he believe she would come back from the fallen city of Savannah? Alive? Normally, he would have passed such a thing off as impossible. But with her . . . Her, with her big doe eyes and billowing blonde hair, and a face lined with scars and bruises, he thought . . . There was a chance. A chance for all of them, a chance at something greater than just survival.

Beth Greene was their last chance at hope . . .

And there she came, walking out from the remainders of walkers that were retreating further into the city. At first, he wasn't sure if it was her, but upon closer inspection it was unmistakable. Her blonde hair streaked with even more blood, and her cheeks smeared with brown. She was too far away for Edwards to see her eyes, but he knew there would be that fire burning away in them that always did.

Flames dancing in the blues, lighting the skies with their blazing ferocity.

He heard the others' sharp intakes of breath at the sight of her, and didn't miss Tanaka's muffled: "Motherfucker . . ." out of disbelief and also, relief.

Effy threw her arms up in the air to get the bloody blonde's attention and waved frantically, face bearing a grin so wide Edwards was sure it should have broken her face. Tanaka copied (with his only arm of course), a grin matching Effy's upon his face; and Shepherd merely flashed one of her infrequent smiles. Morgan just leaned against the car door and wore an expression that seemed to say, _'Told you so.'_

Edwards himself couldn't help the smile that crept onto his face at the sight of her.

There she was, making his optimism on her return lived up to. Nothing could kill her, it seemed now to the doctor. Not a bullet to the head . . . Not two overrun cities . . .

She was truly, in every sense of the word, a survivor.

"Beth!" Effy called, and the blonde looked at them then.

After staring at them for a while from where she stood, her face too broke out into a grin, and she gave them a wave.

Edwards could see her eyes then. Big and bright, almost _twinkling_ actually, as stupid as it sounded. They were glittering with something akin to starlight, and suddenly her feral appearance and demeanour seemed to melt away to show the teenager she still was at heart.

It was easy to forget how young she was with all she'd been through, and all she was capable of. Hard to see the innocent child hidden away like a distant memory, like a secret.

She was far from innocent now. Hardened. Strengthened.

Forged from hot iron into a piercing blade.

Power.

She broke out into a run then, arms swinging at her side and the two packs strapped to her back moving with her. Her ponytail bounced above her breast, and it was then that he noticed the tiny braid hanging in it . . . Small, childish almost, hardly noticeable . . . Like her . . . But he had still noticed.

Effy ran to meet her, and they collided in one another's embrace upon contact, making Tanaka laugh as the pair hugged. Morgan walked over to the two and put a hand on Beth's shoulder, and she smiled up at him, her arms still wrapped around Effy. Her nod held something that looked like gratitude in it, though Edwards couldn't place what she had to be grateful for.

 _They_ were the grateful ones . . . Grateful for her. They owed her everything. There wasn't anything she owed _them_. Not anymore.

She was no longer a part of the system.

None of them were.

"Looks like you found us again," Shepherd said to Beth, who flashed her the famous grin. "Welcome back."

It was then that Edwards noticed the absence of the other blonde woman Beth had introduced them to along with Morgan . . . _Molly_. Morgan had said she'd been with Beth when they went to ring the bell, so where was she now?

He thought he might already know the answer.

"Where's Molly?" he still asked.

Beth's face fell at that and her grin vanished instantly. Edwards felt guilty that it was him who was responsible for that. She released Effy from her embrace and scrunched up her mouth in sadness. _Sadness_. . . Now he knew what the answer was definitely going to be.

She drew the weapon she had strapped to her back . . . The pickaxe Molly had used . . . And held it in her hands. Edwards wanted to take back his question and wipe that sad look on her face.

She had saved them, and all he had given her was grief.

"Molly . . ." she whispered, eyes fixed on the axe. "Molly saved us. It was her final act . . . She chose to save us."

The others were silent for a while, Edwards noticing the water steadily forming in Beth's eyes as she stared down at Molly's weapon. _Would she cry?_ he wondered. Would she, who was so much stronger than any of them, shed tears? She _was_ human, he remembered. It wasn't like it was a sin if she did. But he still thought, that seeing her cry, of all people, would make him feel even weaker than he already felt.

To see that she really could break, after all, like a little wooden doll that the archer had carried out and away from the hospital, until she came hobbling back, cracked and bloody. _Broken_.

But not unfixable.

Morgan spoke up. "She wouldn't have done it if she didn't want to. Save us, I mean." he said, "You know how she was. She must have wanted to save us because she saw a reason to . . . You _gave_ her a reason."

"Before we parted ways . . . She said somethin' to me." Beth said quietly. "She said there was a chance."

"A chance for what?" Shepherd asked.

"She didn't know. A chance for something greater. I don't get what she meant . . . But I hope I do someday . . . A chance . . ."

Edwards thought he understood, but he didn't say anything. A chance for something greater . . . A future . . . A possibility.

Hope. Beth Greene held that hope. And with her, they could follow her to something better like she'd said. Something else. Towards family, friends, civilisation . . .

Towards life.

.

.


	15. Girl of smoke and fire

**Author's Corner**

Thank you so, _so_ much for all the reviews. Honestly you are all absolute angels. And I'm sorry it took a little bit longer than usual for this to be updated, so I hope you're all well. And here is the newest chapter, along with a few more later this week/month that are already typed out. So review with your thoughts, because I do love to hear from you all!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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.

The drive from Savannah was long. Tedious in fact, and Beth found herself looking back through the wing mirror of the car she shared with Dr. Edwards and Morgan, watching the dystopian buildings slowly fade beyond the dusty horizon.

Edwards had his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the steering wheel, and Morgan was busy occupied with sharpening a knife he'd found in the Crawford armoury, leaving Beth with nothing to do but stare at the huge map spread out across her legs and the dashboard. The blood on her face had dried by now and flaked on her cheeks whenever she scratched the lined scar on the left cheekbone—which was probably infected to _hell_ by now. Like the scabbed wound on her forehead.

"We should be crossing the border soon," she commented, hoping to start a conversation. "Into South Carolina."

"You ever been to South Carolina?" Morgan asked, looking up temporarily from sharpening his knife.

"Once." she nodded, glad for the conversation starter. She loathed tense silences more than anything. Not just because of how awkward they were, but because the moments between talking gave just enough time for ominous thoughts to creep into her head. Thoughts that were haunting. Painful.

"We went to Lake Marion for a summer." she said, "Ended up going home early though, 'cause I kept fallin' in when no one was watching."

"You kept _falling in the lake_?" Edwards asked, surprise evident in his tone, and maybe even a little amusement.

She laughed quietly.

"Yeah. I was only little. Jimmy kept scaring me so I fell in in fright. Patricia and Otis would panic so bad . . . It was kinda hilarious now I think about it . . . My big brother Shawn jumpin' in to rescue me . . . Maggie screaming, and Mom and Daddy busy somewhere shopping. They never _saw_ me fall in, just heard about it and told me to be more careful next time in those strict grown-up voices . . . We didn't go back there again."

"I expect you didn't." Morgan chuckled, going back to sharpening his knife. "They were probably afraid you'd drown."

"I probably would'a."

It was funny how things had been before the turn, all laughs and prankster scares. No worrying about rotting corpses coming and chomping on you. Just living.

There was no room for the carefree lifestyle they'd had before, but that didn't mean they still couldn't _live_.

"Hey, look! Up ahead." Edwards' exclamation drew Beth's attention and she looked out of the front window to see what had caught his interest.

Coming up on the side of the road, was a small church building. The cream paint coat was largely chipped, and it looked to be in what condition you would expect in an apocalypse. Dirty, run-down, lifeless. But a shelter was a shelter, and it was starting to get dark. They could stop here for the night—if it was safe—so Beth gestured for Edwards to pull up outside. Shepherd's vehicle parked behind theirs and Beth got out first to investigate. She took out the pickaxe Molly had given her and went towards the wooden double doors. The others weren't far behind, their hands full with bags and weapons, and they watched as Beth pressed her ear to the door and listened . . . Listened for the distinguishable sound of walkers moving inside.

 _What do you hear?_

Unlike most of the time, there was _nothing_. No moaning, no shuffling, nothing. So she reached for the door handle and turned ever so slowly . . .

The doors swung open leisurely, revealing a dark space which had once been used for religious worship. Only now, it lay in ruin, empty and unattended to. Before one of the others could do something like talk or wander in recklessly, Beth tapped the side of the doorframe with the back of her fist. Loud, intentional taps against the crumbling wood that echoed throughout the cosmic space. _That_ would draw any danger inside for sure. She'd seen Daryl do it enough times before entering a new building. She even blew a shrill whistle.

Satisfied when her tapping and whistling brought nothing, she stepped into the dimly lit church and walked down the aisle between the wooden pews up to the altar. What she saw there, however, churned the bile in her stomach, and she heard Effy breathe a horrified gasp at the sight.

The church's priest (or what was left of him at least, in walker form) was hanging suspended from a rope just above the altar table, noose tied firmly around his neck as he hung there. The once pristine whiteness of his robes was long faded, and he now wore tattered clothes of charcoal grey, marred with the red of his own blood . . .

He'd killed himself, or _tried_ to at least because a blow to the head was necessary now to fully complete the process. Committed suicide, even though the bible clearly stated it was a sin, punishable by the tainting of the soul and therefore preventing entry into God's kingdom. All because he didn't have the will to fight.

Didn't have enough faith.

She saw Effy trembling beside her, shoulders shaking ever so slightly in the hope that no one would notice. But Beth did. So she placed her hand on the girl's shoulder and squeezed. Effy seemed grateful for the gesture and gave her a meaningful look.

"We should take him down." the girl said after a while, watching the walker priest snarl and writhe in his awful suspension.

Beth nodded in agreement. "We should."

She was about to step up and plunge the pickaxe into the walker's head when a hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned her head to find that it belonged to Morgan, who was staring at her fixedly.

"This time . . ." he spoke lowly; sincerely. "This time, let someone else do it. Let someone help."

"I don't need—" She was about to exclaim how she didn't need help but stopped when she sensed that wasn't quite what the man was implying. He wasn't implying _anything_ in fact . . . He was simply offering.

Offering his help. And that, well . . . _That_ was something Beth couldn't bring herself, and didn't _want_ , to refuse. So she nodded, and he walked forward and stabbed the hanging walker in the temple with his long knife. Effy approached it then, and untied the noose around its neck, letting it drop to the floor. She and Beth then took the cloth from the altar table and wrapped it around the dead walker. And Beth nodded to Shepherd, who went over and picked it up in the cloth, and walked out to dispose of it accordingly. Beth could feel Dr. Edwards watching her, and turned to him. His lip twitched and he squirmed uncomfortably, but he didn't say anything.

She didn't push him to.

"Would'a been pretty hard to sleep with _him_ staring down at us," Tanaka remarked with a chuckle, and plonked himself down on one of the wooden benches.

Beth followed his gaze up to the wooden statue of Jesus Christ behind the altar. She smiled at the witty comment, and set the two packs she carried down on one of the benches. She fished out the antibiotics and emptied a few painkillers into her hand, before walking over and kneeling before the sitting Tanaka.

"Take these." she said, "They'll help the pain."

He blinked in surprise, certain that he hadn't complained about being in pain recently, but then regained his usual smile and accepting the tablets. He downed them with a gulp of water and then sat back against the wood.

"I don't think I ever properly thanked you." he said suddenly, startling Beth, as well as confusing her.

"For saving me," he clarified, seeing her confusion. "If not for you . . . I'd, well _we'd_ all be dead. When I went an' got myself bit . . . You didn't give up on me. You believed I could make it, and you've never let me down since."

Beth felt heat rising in her cheeks. "You don't have to thank me." she murmured, suddenly incredibly shy, for reasons she couldn't quite fathom.

"I know I don't have to. But I want to. So thank you, Beth Greene, girl of smoke and fire. If not for your strength, determination, and overall attitude to things, I would've died way back in that fucking hospital you burned to the ground."

 _Girl of smoke and fire_. Intense.

"You're welcome." she blushed, cheeks pink with pride. Pride for what she'd apparently managed to do for these people. For, even if just for a little while, managing to do what Rick had been doing for their group for years now.

She stood up and left the cop to rest, and went back to where she'd laid down the two packs. Shepherd came back in then and bolted the doors shut, before coming over to her.

"You okay?" the female officer asked.

She gave a nod in response, and Shepherd sat down beside the packs.

"Anything I can do?" she implored further.

"Um . . ." Beth pondered. "Oh," she said finally, digging out a few cans of food and passing them to her. "You could hand these out. I imagine people will be kinda hungry."

Shepherd rose to her feet with the array of cans in her hands, and Beth didn't miss the comical growl her stomach made at the mention and sight of food.

"I'm on it." she said, went about the task, giving the cans out in rations, people accepting them happily.

Beth sat down on the bench and pulled out the pack of aspirin for headaches. She poured two into her palm and stared at the multi-coloured capsules, one end blue and the other red. The colours were a fine contrast with her ghostly pale skin, her frail, ill-treated skin. It showed lack of nutrition and care, and her daddy would have frowned at the mere sight of it. She didn't want to imagine what the _rest_ of her must look like, covered in dry blood that wouldn't wipe off completely, mangled hair a shriveled mess, and tired eyes, probably outlined by thick dark rings at the bottom. Rough—that's the word that came to mind when she thought about how she must look.

She swallowed the tablets whole, hoping that they'd do something to ease the constant throbbing in her head . . . And then she remembered.

Her wound had re-opened. And still not properly closed it seemed.

She lifted a hand and touched the damp bandage covering the injury, it feeling warm and sticky. She lifted it, wincing a little when she accidentally broke a scabbed part of skin and caused some blood to trickle down her forehead and cheek. It wasn't _gushing_ with blood, due to the scabbing and swelling—probably from the effects of the serum only just still being in her system—but it was still bleeding, and she was low on nutrition as it was. She needed to get it cleaned and patched up quick . . .

"You should have said something sooner, Beth."

The voice startled her and she jumped in her seat, her head whipping up painfully to see Edwards standing before her, wearing an anxious expression. He crouched in front of her, so that they were both now eye level, and studied the dirty bandage.

She balled her fists and pressed her teeth together, wishing she didn't need him.

"Let me see," he said, lifting a hand. He'd suddenly gained some confidence like he always did when medical work called.

She did.

He gently tugged the bandage up above the wound and frowned at the sight, before pulling the gross piece of dirty cloth off entirely and setting it down on the bench beside her. Beth fidgeted. She felt exposed and vulnerable. And she didn't like feeling like that. But Edwards didn't seem to notice her uneasiness, or if he did he just didn't say anything. He opened up the bag of medicine she'd brought from the Crawford pharmacy.

"Made a real mess of it," he remarked more to himself than her, "But I should be able to fix it up with what's in the briefcase and what you've got in here."

"I didn't mean to," she said harshly, "It hurts all the time, but this time it re-opened."

"I'm not really surprised with all the moving around you do."

He soaked a piece of his torn up lab coat in some water and pressed it to her head. The blood was dry and sticky, but he managed to wipe it off so that it was relatively clean. Or as clean as you could get without proper hygiene care.

She winced in pain when he dabbed around the actual wound, and he slowed to let her gather her bearings. He continued when she gave him a signal to go on, and wiped lightly around the bullet wound, cleaning it as best he could. He then pressed the cloth a little harder, making her wince, and brought her hand up to hold it in place.

"Keep it steady," he said, "And apply pressure."

"I know . . . My daddy was a vet . . . And I used to help look after people back in our old group's community."

"In the prison?"

"Yeah, the . . ." She blinked. " _Yeah_. But how did you . . . ?"

"Uh, I . . ." he looked down and fiddled with the wrapper for a large band-aid, "You mentioned it once." he finally said, though Beth couldn't remember mentioning the prison at _all_.

She didn't think it was worth dwelling on though, and let the matter drop.

"Is the exit wound bleeding?" she asked.

He finally managed to get the band-aid out, and stopped to check the back of her head. "No," he replied, "But I put more stitches in there than the front so . . ."

The band-aid was out and laid in his palm, and he shifted her hand away to press it over the wound carefully. Pleased it was cleaned up sufficiently, he cut a new strip of bandage from the pile she'd brought and tied it around her head, covering both points of where the bullet had flown. He gave her facial scars a stare then and seemed to be mulling over something to do with them.

"What is it?" she asked.

He pointed to the jagged line on her cheek and the one above her right brow. "It's just those . . . The stitches could do with coming out. They're getting infected, and the skin should have healed enough by now to go without them in."

"Can you take them out with what you have?"

"Sure."

"Then go ahead . . . If you want."

He seemed taken aback by her forwardness but didn't comment on that either. Instead, he fumbled around inside his case and drew out a pair of tweezers that Beth would have used to pluck her eyebrows. She made a mental note to ask him if she could borrow them sometime, though he would probably say no due to sanitation issues. It had been so long since she'd fixed up her eyebrows, and they probably looked as worse as the rest of her. What she would give for Carol and her brow plucking skills right now.

Edwards cleaned the scarred lines as thoroughly as he could, then started on the wide slit on her cheek. He wiped along her dirty cheekbone with another damp cloth and brushed his fingers across the bumpy, clumsily stitched together flesh.

"Do they itch?"

She shrugged. "A little."

"Then they _should_ probably come out then." he nodded, "Hold still. It won't hurt, but you'll feel tiny pricks of pain."

She wanted to laugh at that. "I don't think tiny pricks of pain are gonna be anything too hard to handle after all I've been through," she said with a faint smile, and Edwards nearly mirrored it.

"That's true, I guess . . ."

And he went to work, steadily plucking the end of the string out and pulling, a sharp sting making Beth's face twitch. He pulled the stitches out of their zigzag pattern with extreme care, stopping to dab her cheek every few pulls when she winced. She was almost blown away by his gentle hand and care. So blown away that she forgot about how enraged she'd been when he'd used her to kill that other doctor for a moment, and just watched the tenderness flickering away in his eyes.

"I never asked," she said suddenly, "I always assumed that I got this scar along with my fractured wrist when the car hit me, but I never really _asked_. . . _Was_ that how I got it?"

"Like you said, probably. The car hit you, hurting your wrist and waist, then I guess if you weren't knocked out by that then one of the cops would've knocked you out with the handle of his gun or something."

"Nice."

"Yeah . . . Hard to believe they thought you owed them for something like that. Some form of saving your life by kidnapping and taking you away from your friend."

Beth tried not to think of Daryl all alone after her being taken. Of how he must have felt when she'd been the one to insist the others were still out there somewhere, and he'd shut her down most times . . . Then he'd been the one to go on and find them, whilst she was alone in captivity, awaiting her death he witnessed with his very own eyes.

"They were wrong." she said, "That system was all wrong. It was all take and no give . . . A confinement."

"It _was_ wrong," he agreed, pulling the last strand of string out of her skin and dabbing the raw skin with the wet cloth. "But it was some form of _order_. People need order if they're gonna stay sane. If order collapses . . . So do the people."

"That wasn't order, it was enslavement. Forcing people to stay there against their will, refusing to let 'em go without 'paying their end of the bargain'. Noah wanted to go home, but Dawn didn't let him . . . She kept people there like prisoners, and then wondered why he tried to get out."

"Well, She isn't an issue anymore. Your friend saw to that."

He opened another band-aid, this one smaller, and pressed it over the line on her cheek. He then began to do the same thing to the other mark charring her brow, cleaning and removing the thread.

". . . _Daryl._ " she said out loud this time, "His name . . . His name is Daryl."

"Daryl . . ." he repeated, the name rolling off his tongue curiously, like he was testing it. She also thought there was something oddly _familiar_ about the way he said the hunter's name, that Beth didn't understand. How could it be _familiar_ to him? He'd been holed up in that hospital since the very start of the turn.

There was no way he could have ever met, or even heard of, Daryl Dixon.

"Is he . . . Is he . . . really _just_ a friend to you?"

Beth jumped at the question, making Edwards jab her forehead with the tweezers. They weren't big enough to really do any damage, but that was the least of her concern. Her cheeks flooded with heat at the question, and she could feel it all the way up to her ears.

"Yeah!" she blurted a little too sharply, "Why would he be anything else?"

"I just thought . . . ! From the way he reacted after . . . after what happened to you. The look on his face after he shot Dawn, and how he _carried_ you . . . I just thought that maybe . . . There was something more, is all."

 _Something more._

Beth was starting to think there was something more herself. But she wouldn't ever say that out loud. Especially not to Dr. Edwards.

What did it even mean? Something more. What did that _mean_? More . . . More than _what_? More than friendship . . . More than family? What was there that was more than that? Beth could feel her cheeks growing even hotter as she realised she knew what the answer to that was, but she shook the thought out of her head immediately. Sure she had had a _mild_ teenage crush on him in the beginning, during the days of the farm and prison. Admired his strength and capability, and respected how he always cared for them. And of course, he was also very attractive too, in a dark and rugged sort of way that Beth hadn't been attracted to in boys before. Probably because Daryl wasn't a boy . . . He was, in every sense of the word, a _man_.

He wasn't majorly friendly and loving like Jimmy, and he wasn't intensively sweet and flirtatious like Zach. He was strong, fierce, a protector . . . And also, from what Beth sensed . . . Maybe a little more than _that_ , tucked deep down. Something deeper than a man with a rough past, with big ropy muscles and a severe face . . .

Something more.

But a crush was just a crush, when it boiled down to it, and Beth had known that he would never see _her_ in that way, or even pass her a glance really. She was just baggage in his eyes; background noise. Cargo that needed looking after. Like Carl and Judith. One of the innocent ones who needed his strength. Dependent on the others in the group and unable to fend for themselves. _Unequal_. And how could she _not_ have had a crush on him really? It was Daryl Dixon. She was pretty sure she'd had a very faint crush on _Rick_ at one point. That was the thing about crushes. They were never too serious, and the person you were crushing on usually never looked twice at you . . .

But then Beth remembered the way Daryl had looked at her when sat across the table in the funeral home with his hands full with jelly and a spoon. How his eyes had danced with a warmth she'd never, or even dreamed of, seeing in his usually stoic, icy eyes. How he'd looked at her like a man would look at a woman as described in a book. Like she was magic, wonder, beauty. And then she'd dared to think that maybe Daryl saw her in a way she hadn't considered before . . . As more than just friend or lone companion he was forced to spend the rest of his days with because they had lost everyone else.

He'd looked at her . . . Like he actually _saw_ her. All of her. And _wanted_ to see it too.

And Beth's heart had beat fast when he looked at her like that, all warm and fiery and glinting from the light of the candles . . . Girl of smoke and fire, set alight by another's flame. And she'd wondered then, that maybe Daryl Dixon might have seen her as something more too.

". . . Daryl is very important to me." she finally settled on, deciding it was the best she could offer, trying to cool her blush.

Edwards pulled the final string out of the wound above her brow and wiped the raw flesh there. "Yeah . . . ?" he asked.

She smiled. "Yeah."

"And I know from looking at the way he was after you 'died' . . . That you meant . . . _Mean_ a lot to him too. Maybe even more than you know."

She coloured harder at that, and let him press the final plaster onto the slice on her brow. _Maybe_. . . Maybe somehow, during their time alone together, the usually cruel and detached archer had looked at her properly for the very first time . . . And seen something worth looking at. Worth _believing_ in.

 _What changed your mind?_

She thought she knew the answer, but she still wanted to hear it. That one word fall from his lips . . . That one word . . .

And maybe also, something more.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

I just felt the need to clarify that the church they are in is not Father Gabriel's church, in case you hadn't already figured so because of the geography. This is just some other church near the border they sought refuge in.

THANKS FOR READING! REVIEW REVIEW _REVIEW_ ~


	16. Coda

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

That night, Beth's dreams were invaded by members of her family.

She and Maggie rode their horses out into the late afternoon hours, her blonde hair basked in the orange glow of the setting sun as she rode fiercely. _Young_. Maggie would brag about how she rode faster, and they would race. Along the grassy plains of the Greene farm, throwing their heads back and breathing in the hot Georgia air. Then Shawn would come out and tell them they both sucked in comparison to him, and Patricia would call them in for dinner . . . Otis wandered back from hunting, her mom gave them a wave from the porch, and Beth was hit with a desperation to cry out to them. Cry out and tell them . . .

 _Don't die. Please._

 _Don't leave me._

But the image of jolly summer seasons on the farm would melt away . . . And she would be out on the road during the height of winter, snuggled up for warmth beside a heavily pregnant Lori and her daddy, screaming at the two about their later deceases. Trying, so desperately, to warn them . . . So something could be done.

To _stop_ it.

 _Maybe I could'a done somethin'!_ Daryl's words screamed in her head, swirling the poisoned air and distorting the images around her into dark flickers of horrid confusion.

 _Maybe_. _Maybe I could have too._

Then, she would be sitting in one of the cell blocks, back at the prison. And Rick would stroll by and hand her baby Judith, chatting happily to her for a while, making her blush at his attention, and he would go out to his little farm in the yard. Carl would come by at some point, give her flowers with a little smile, then jog off with a pink glow to his cheeks. And Beth would see all the little children skipping merrily to their lessons with Carol, oh _Carol_. . . How she missed that wonderful woman. Was she okay? Alone out there, _banished_. Beth just hoped so badly that she had found someone again.

So she wasn't alone. Because no one deserved that, and _especially_ not Carol.

And the _children_. . . Beth wanted to cry for all those kids who wouldn't make it out of the burning prison alive. Who she wouldn't find when running around to try to get them on the bus.

 _We gotta go, Beth. We gotta go._

Running through a forest turf with Daryl, body coated in sweat and hair hanging in her face like a curtain of sticky gold. Dreaming about that was the worst because it was the freshest memory she had of the people she loved so dearly. The last person to have seen her alive after the fall of the prison, probably thinking she was dead now, was Daryl. _Daryl Dixon._ He may be Daryl Dixon, but at the same time, even if it was for a little while . . . He was just Daryl.

Just Daryl. Just rough, brash, handsome, asshole, inconsiderate, sweet, dorky, caring, absolutely unrivaled _Daryl_.

Beth _really_ wanted to cry behind her closed eyelids when she ran with him through the woods in her mind's eye. Wanted to cry for him, for what she'd tried to show him . . . What he might have actually started to believe . . . Only to have it thrown right back in his face and lose it.

 _Gone someday. Don't think the good ones survive. The last man standing. Miss me._ _Don't cry anymore._

And Beth woke up.

.

.

Her breathing was heavy and her body was coated with a fine layer of cold sweat as she awoke, and jolted up from where she laid on the hard church bench. She blinked the haziness out of her eyes and looked around.

The church hall was dark. Shadows stretcher out across the walls and floor, and the faint orange light flickered from where candles had been lit at the altar. Beth breathed out a choky breath and put a hand over her fast beating heart. She wanted to reassure herself by thinking: _It was just a dream . . . Just a dream._

Only the worst part of it was that it _wasn't_ just a dream.

All those things had _happened_. They were happy memories, so happy they now felt bitter, and they were never coming back. All those happy memories were taunting now. Taunting of those she'd lost, those she may never see again. Beth tried to keep a level head and be hopeful, but sometimes . . . In the dark of the night when left alone with her thoughts. The possibility of being wrong crept into her head like an insect. Crawling into her brain and poisoning her thoughts.

The possibility that . . . Maybe . . . She never would find them again.

". . . Beth?"

She tilted her head in the direction of the voice and saw Morgan sitting on the altar steps, watching her with a careful expression. The light from the candles lit the plains of his face with shadow, giving him an eerie yet warm look.

"Are you alright?" he asked after a moment of staring.

She didn't speak for a while, head throbbing and the plasters over her scars itchy. She thought about the question.

 _Was_ she alright? Normally the answer would be yes, even if it wasn't entirely true, just to ease the worry of the person asking. But this person was Morgan, and she sensed that somehow he would know if she lied. And there was something about him . . . that made her _want_ to tell the truth. Want to trust in him.

Because she thought that maybe he would be one of the people that would understand.

". . . No." she said quietly, finally.

Morgan's gaze was still fixed on her from where he sat, and his eyes were still filled with that odd sincere sympathy.

"D'you mind if I ask, why not?"

Beth leaned back on the bench and looked around at the others. They all either lay or sat against things, eyes closed and chests heaving gently, suggesting fairly pleasant sleep. But the restless flickering of Effy's eyelids suggested otherwise and gave the impression of nightmares.

No one could escape them, it seemed.

"I just . . ."

How did she say what she felt? How did you tell someone that everything around you had either crumbled or was crumbling, and there was nothing left? No family, no friends . . . No love. Only responsibility . . . _Jobs to do._

She sighed a long, heavy sigh.

"I don't know how to say it." she admitted with a hopeless countenance.

"I get it." he said, "You've been through so much it's hard to just sum the pain all up in one sentence anymore. Y'can't pretend it'll just go away sometimes."

"Someone once told me . . . That the pain _never_ goes away, you just make room to deal with it."

The candles flickered, and Beth felt the warmth of their glow on her pale skin and just stared at Morgan. She was hit with a feeling she hadn't experienced in quite a while. A feeling of mutual connection that made her think, _He understands._

"Feels like it's too much sometimes," he went on, "You just feel like, _what's the point?_ So much damn pain in the world now, an' nothin' much left to fight for, so _what am I still fightin' for?_ "

"I _know_ what I'm fighting for. I always tell others that there are still things worthwhile . . . But sometimes I just get little moments of doubt, y'know?"

Her voice was small, weak. And she hated it. But she couldn't muster the will to strengthen it, and she hated that even more.

"But it's not just that . . . It's the people I lost too. Even though I'm surrounded by people, even now . . . I just feel so . . . _Alone_."

Lonely, even in a crowd of people.

Beth had always loved people before, loved being in their company and chatting away endlessly. But now . . . Now she just craved the company of those who held deeper meaning to her. She liked these people well enough, knew she would do anything to keep them safe . . . But they weren't her family. Weren't the people she'd run through storms and fields of blood with. Stolen prisons back from the dead, burned towns to the ground with . . . They could never be _them_.

And that made her feel so very alone.

"What'd'ya usually do when you feel like this?" he asked.

"Um . . ." She played with her fingers in her lap.

". . . I sing. Or play music."

 _I still sing._

"Then do it. Might not be able to play that loud-ass organ there, but I found a piano in the back room when we were searchin' for biters. Could try that if ya want?"

Beth's heart leapt and she felt the emptiness in her beginning to fill ever so slightly.

He seemed to sense the change in her, and rose to his feet and extended a hand to her.

"C'mon." he said.

It was one syllable . . . One simple command-slash-suggestion . . . And it made Beth reach out and take his hand. And every step towards the back room, towards the waiting _piano_ , Beth could feel the hollow feeling of despair in her melting away, Morgan's fingers warm around her own.

If there has ever been a time when Beth didn't love music . . . She didn't remember it. All her life, it was the most constant thing. She had sung in the church choir on Sundays, had been playing the piano since she was six, and even learned a little guitar playing from Otis. There had even been a point where she'd attempted to write down her _own_ songs—something she'd taken up doing again after the world had gone to shit—although the songs she wrote were never quite finished. There was a lot of unfinished business surrounding the music in Beth's life.

There was a lot of unfinished business in general.

But the point was, that music had always had the ability to cheer her up. And now, in the darkness of an abandoned church on the border of the state of Georgia . . . Music served simply, as that.

Her fingers moved across the low-lit piano keys elegantly, finger pads pressing down firmly when she played certain chords. The notes drifted into the air and danced into her ears. High notes . . . Low notes . . . They rung out into the silence of the small back room and soothed the pounding in her head, and she closed her eyes and allowed her fingertips to leap across the keys with an unintentional grace. She opened her eyes into her playing to find Morgan watching her play intently. The fascination on his face was almost hilarious. Beth had been told she was a good pianist before, but the awed look on his face was downright priceless.

Her fingers stopped playing and hovered above the keys. "What?" she asked.

He shook his head and shrugged. "S'nothin' really. Just you're kinda a different person when you're playin'."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean . . . It's like normally, you're this bold little fighter. You're brave, and reckless, and pretty darn fearless. But you still get afraid, you're still haunted by your demons like the rest of us . . . But when you play, it's like all that vanishes . . . An' you're just a girl again."

"Just a girl, huh?" she asked quietly, feeling traces of a smile tugging at her lips, and she looked back down at the piano.

"I would say it's like I'm seein' the real you, but that's not it." he said.

She blinked.

"It's more like . . . This is _more_ to who ya are. Like you _are_ tough and reckless and all that other shit. But you're _this_ too. You're human. You're still who you _were_ , an' that's good."

She did smile then. "There's more to people than just words that describe them. People are lots of things. Brave, scared, clever, selfish . . . But those things don't _define_ us."

"Then what does?"

". . . Whatever we want to."

Say who you are. Choose what defines you. Be kind, be strong, be clever, be hopeful . . .

Be what you want to _be_.

She went back to playing then, fingers ghosting over the pale orange-lit keys, the soft melody starting again. She glanced at the open sheet music one last time, and then closed her eyes once more, and let only her fingers do the playing. _This_ was being alive. Not plunging knives into the rotting skulls of dead men walking, not running constantly away from death . . . Just small, ordinary things like these. You needed them to breathe. To stay sane. And to realise that the fight wasn't a lost cause. Things like this could still be enjoyed. And enjoy it, Beth did, as she played on into the dimly lit room, the emptiness inside her slowly fading away into something warmer. Something happier.

And to be happy in this apocalypse . . . was a miracle in itself.

After a while, Morgan spoke again, breaking Beth's mental tranquillity a little, but she didn't mind.

"I never was much good at readin' music," he said, "The symbols were all too confusing to me. How the hell d'ya know which ones which?"

"I don't know . . . Maybe just because I've been playing all my life, so it comes naturally I guess."

"Been playin' since ya were a kid?"

She nodded. "Yeah. No one could ever get me off once I started playing, same with singing too, no one could shut me up. I guess I must'a been kinda annoying but . . . But anyways, I stopped for a bit when all this happened . . . Didn't really see the point anymore."

"Why'd you start again?"

"I . . . There wasn't really one _major_ reason, it was more . . . For the others I was with, the people that mattered to me." she tried to explain, "They were always trying so hard to keep us alive, risking so much . . . I wanted to give something back to them. I'm not very smart, or very strong physically, so the best thing I could think of . . . Was to sing."

 _Sing_.

"Sing . . . To cheer them _and_ me up whenever we felt sad. Just sing. For _them_ , for the world, for everything."

 _I thought my singing annoyed you._

Perhaps it hadn't. And maybe also, never had at all.

"You could sing now," Morgan suggested. "To cheer yourself up. _And_ me. Does that cross thingy symbol there signal vocals or . . . ?"

He pointed at a symbol shaped in a circle with a sharp cross marked through it on the sheet music, and Beth smiled and shook her head.

"No . . ." she smiled helplessly. "That sign is called a _coda_. It's hard to explain . . . It's a musical symbol that signals you to skip this part here, then go back and repeat the designated part from before until you reach the end."

"What's the point of doin' _that_?"

"It saves writing out the same notes twice, kind of like a repeat button. It's complicated, yeah, but if you play, you get it."

"Hmm," he nodded, "An' here I was thinkin' you meant the little bear from that film that was called Coda when ya said the name."

She laughed at that, but not too loud in an attempt not to wake the others ,if the piano playing already hadn't. " _You_ watched _Brother Bear_?" she snorted.

"I had a _son_." he justified, but it didn't stop her amusement.

"Did you like it?" she teased, "Did you re-watch it seventeen times? Did you sing along to all the songs?"

"'Course I didn't. Why would I—"

" _Tell everybody I'm on my way~ . . ._ " she sung.

"You're kinda annoying when you're like this." He nudged her, and she stopped singing with even more laughter. She noticed he was chuckling too then, despite his harsh tone and feigned elbow, and she smirked.

"It should be like this." she said quietly.

"Should be like what?"

"Like _this_ ," she said firmer, gesturing the two of them. "People. _Laughing_ together over silly things like characters and songs in kids movies. It should be able to be like this, sometimes, at least."

"It can. S'just harder with the world the way it is."

"Yeah, it is . . . But you're right. It _can_ be like this. We can _make_ it be like this."

"How?"

She stared down at the piano keys again and watched the amber glow shift with shadows across the black and white. _How_. How to salvage the world and make it better? How to make it play again. How to fix a broken music box?

So many _hows_ , but so little answers.

 _Not yet._

"I don't know," she admitted. "But we can still try. We'll find a way."

He shook his head. "There ya go, with that damn _optimism_ again. How the hell d'ya do it?"

"I told you." she grinned. "Because I _believe_. You can believe too. We all can."

"Not everyone."

"No . . ."

The light from the candles glimmered in his eyes, and Beth stared at him.

"We _all_ can," she said again, "We can still believe, we can, some just don't try. And why? Because they're afraid. But I'm not afraid, and somehow . . . I don't think _you're_ afraid either. At least, not anymore."

Morgan didn't speak, but he didn't need to. Beth could see all she needed to see right there in his eyes, shining away. Courage, glinting silently.

There must have been something about candles in the dark that pulled the secrets out of a person. Dragged their innermost being out and planted it glowing away in their eyes . . . Made it easier to look right into them. And _see_.

"You called me brave. But you're brave too, Morgan. Brave enough to keep goin' even in all this. Brave enough not to back down and give up. To fight . . . So you're _definitely_ brave enough to _believe_."

 _So you do think there are still good people around._

"It's not too late. It's never too late . . . You can still change your mind."

 _Still_.

He tilted his head whilst looking at her, dark eyes still glimmering so black they blended in completely with his pupils. Beth smiled at him and went back to playing, eyelids drifting closed once more as she allowed the music to consume her, and wipe away the emptiness that had built.

.

.

"Well, here we are. We've successfully crossed the border."

Beth sat up in the passenger seat and looked out at the road ahead . . . Which didn't really look much different to the Georgian road, apart from the massive sign that read: _'WELCOME TO SOUTH CAROLINA'._

"One step closer." she nodded.

"Forgive me for askin'," Morgan said from the back seat, "But where are we actually going?"

"Oh, that's right . . . You don't know." Edwards realised, "You weren't with us from the start."

Beth turned in her seat. "We're going to Virginia," she said, with a sparkle in her eyes.

"Virginia? Why?"

"'Cause that's the place I'm hopin' my family will be." she answered, arms wrapped around her seat.

"The ones you were traveling with before?"

"That's them."

"An' what makes ya think they've gone all the way to _Virginia_?"

"Back in Atlanta, in the hospital we came from . . . There was a boy called Noah who was from there originally. He said there was a place there in Richmond, a place we can be safe."

she explained, passing Edwards a glance. "After . . . After what happened back at the hospital, when I got shot . . . We got separated, and I don't know where they are. But Noah wanted to go there, so that's the place I think they would'a gone."

"What if they didn't go there though? Just 'cause there's walls it doesn't mean it's safe."

She nodded. "I know . . . But like I've said before, it's _something_. Something to work towards. People need that."

Dr. Edwards piped up then, making Beth turn in her seat to face him.

"Even if they're not there . . ." he said, gaze still fixed on the road, "We'll just look someplace else. They could still be out there . . . We've just gotta look."

He passed her a glance, and she smiled at him. He looked away awkwardly, uncomfortable under the warmth of her expression, and concentrated on driving again.

"That's right." she said, "We don't gotta give up if they're not there. We don't _ever_ gotta give up."

"And you're certain they're still alive, wherever they are?" Morgan asked.

Her grin widened considerably, and she cocked her head to the side, band-aid covering her cheek stretching with her smile. "I'm not just certain . . . I _believe_ with every ounce of my being."

Edwards passed her a glance then, probably thinking she wouldn't notice because her head was turned. But she did. And she didn't miss the look of brief agreement that flickered across his features. A look that suggested maybe he too . . . _Believed_. Or perhaps was finally starting to.

 _You can still change your mind._

 _._

.

They drove for what must have been _hours_ , along the coast of Southern Carolina. Beth watched the waves churn and dance in the ocean beside her, arm propped up against the wound down window. Her hair billowed in the strong seaside wind. Looking at the ocean was therapeutic, soothing. Because it was one of the few things that was still almost exactly the same as it had been before the turn. No walkers could walk in it, and no people could gun one another down. It was the same as ever.

Fierce, untamed, _free_. And every crashing wave made Beth's heart soar, and her veins flow with a raw kind of thrill.

A sound from above made her redirect her attention, however, and she poked her head further out of the window to look up at where the loud _screech!_ had come from . . . And boy, did she smile at what she saw.

"What're you looking at?" Edwards asked from the driver's seat, averting Morgan's attention towards her also.

"Up there," she pointed, "Look."

They did.

And they too saw the pale feathered bird flying high above them, wings spread out and shifting in flight, tail feathers dark and glinting in the sun.

Beth reached out her arm with the cast on and stretched her fingers out towards the gull, and wished she could fly too. Soar high above the clouds, dance through the rain and into the twilight, way out of reach of grabbing hands and snapping jaws . . . _Free_.

Her smile widened when the gull gave a particularly loud _squawk!_ And she closed her eyes and let the wind fan on her face and through her fingers, pulling her hair and making it dance in the air. She remembered the last time she'd seen birds flying in the sky, laid upon a grassy plain beside her only remaining friend, physically spent from running away from a burning prison, panting heavily and staring up at the vast sky, watching as a flock of birds circled, singing their songs. She'd wanted to fly then as well. Fly away from it all. Sing her songs to the trees and let them carry on the wind, and be free too. But Beth didn't have wings, so she couldn't fly and have the freedom she wanted. But she could have another kind of freedom. A kind she hadn't thought to want before, had been _afraid_ to want, but no more. She wasn't afraid of believing.

"What I'd give t'get up there myself," Morgan voiced her thoughts, his own gaze also on the gull flying overhead. "Get up there, fly away. But I ain't got no wings."

"Me neither . . . Darn shame. If we did we could be free too." Edwards mumbled, but Beth's smile only grew, and she flexed her outstretched fingers against the cold coastal breeze.

"You don't always need wings to fly." she said, ". . . To be free."

.

.


	17. The man with the burn on his face

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

"I don't know about this." Shepherd rubbed the back of her head after listening to Beth's proposal.

"But this is our best chance to really stock up, get the things we need." Beth argued, "We're running low as it is."

"We have enough to get by with. And do you really wanna charge into _another_ place of civilisation after what we've been through?"

"But those were big cities. This is only a small town. Like a _really_ small one. If anything bad happens we can always just make a break for it. Come on, it'll be fine and you know it."

Shepherd sighed. "It's not that I don't trust in your ability, I do . . . I just don't want you putting yourself in unnecessary danger all the time."

Beth raised a mocking brow. "Who are you? My mom?"

That joke stung. She wished she hadn't said it.

"I think what Officer Shepherd is trying to say . . ." Tanaka cut in, "Is that we've had enough close calls already. What if something bad happens to you and we have no way of knowing?"

"We'd wait, but we can't wait forever . . . Especially if you're . . ."

Beth's expression softened and she bit her lip. Then grinned again. "Which is exactly why _these_ will be useful," she said and looked at Morgan, who was standing beside the parked cars.

He reached down into his large coat pockets and drew out two black radios. He handed them to her, and she took them with a nod before turning back to the others.

"Morgan found these in the Crawford armoury and fixed them," she explained, "We can use them to communicate if one of us gets into a tight spot."

Effy took one from her and looked at it. "A walkie-talkie?" she asked.

"I think it's more high-tech than that . . ." Tanaka mumbled.

Shepherd still didn't look convinced and looked at her with furrowed brows. "I still don't think you should be going off on your own all the time like this," she said.

"But I won't be on my own." she countered, "I'll have Morgan . . . And _you_ can come too if you really want."

"But I thought you said I needed to stay and protect these guys?"

Beth looked at Effy and Tanaka inspecting the fancy gadget with fascination, and Edwards sat on a tree stump beside them, the bag-pack containing precious serum inside.

"I _did_ say that . . . But that was before. When I didn't fully believe. I believe in them now. They can take care of themselves for a little while."

Shepherd looked at them too, eyes still full of concern. "I don't wanna fail them." she said quietly, "I don't want to be like that."

"Like what?"

". . . Like _her_. Willing to put them in danger and not care about what happens to them as long as I'm fine. I don't wanna be like her."

"Hey." Beth put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "You're not like Dawn. You're not."

"I could've been. If I'd stayed in that placed any longer. I was supposed to take over leadership after your friend shot her. I could've been the next her. I could'a . . ." she murmured, and Beth tightened her grip on her arm.

"But you're _not_. You got out. You're not like that. You're _better_ than that."

The woman looked at her and stared. Beth returned the stare and looked with soft eyes, fingers squeezing her arm ever so slightly for support.

"I'm not a leader," Shepherd said finally, "I can't make the right decisions. Can't keep people alive."

"You don't have to be a leader to be able to do those things," Beth responded. "No one's perfect. No one makes the right choices all the time, sometimes they screw up real bad. But that's the thing. You _learn_ from those screw-ups, learn to make the right choices."

Everyone was listening now, and Beth didn't release her light grip on Shepherd's arm.

"You don't have to lead," she said, "But you can keep people alive. You _are_. . . _That's_ who you are."

It's who you are, not who you were.

". . . I'd follow you if _you_ were a leader, Beth." Effy said with a smile, and Beth blinked in surprise and felt her cheeks growing warm.

"Me too." said Morgan from his stance by the vehicles.

She could see the others nodding in agreement, and the blush on her cheeks deepened. Shepherd smiled at her then, and put her hand over hers.

"You really wanna go down there?" she asked.

Beth nodded.

"Then let's do it."

.

.

Similar to how Savannah had been when they first entered, the town was quiet.

Beth, Morgan, and Shepherd walked through the archway that must have once been decorated with the town's name—letters now having fallen and broken in pieces on the ground, cracked and splintered. The place looked to have been a kind of fishing village, and Beth frowned at the idea of all the crates of gone-off fish they could find. The area already smelled of damp wood and forest terrain after a rainfall, and the scent of moss and mold was becoming more apparent.

"So what exactly is it we're supposed to look for?" Shepherd asked.

"Just anything you see that'll be useful. Food, extra clothes, medical supplies . . . Things like that."

"Weapons," Morgan added.

"Yeah. And weapons."

"And we'll find things like that in a place like this?" Shepherd asked critically.

Beth shrugged. "Who knows what you'll find anymore?"

They walked a while longer before coming across an array of small shops, and Morgan half grinned at the rifle store he spotted. Beth gave him a nod, and he went down to check it out. She and Shepherd then went into what looked to be a small supermarket.

"You check those aisles there, and I'll check the back." she said, "But be careful."

She jogged down to the back of the shop, pickaxe at the ready, and peeked out from behind a shelf. There were no sounds of suspicion, or anything in sight, but Beth had learned things like that weren't enough to determine the safety of a new building. She whistled, loud and clear, hoping to draw anything towards her. But nothing came. Only Shepherd poking her head around another aisle, staring at her questioningly, before returning to checking her section.

Beth lowered the pickaxe and walked over to the back shelf, and grinned at what was hung on it. There were no guns like the shop Morgan had entered—probably because those were the first to get cleared out when the place had been previously raided—but there were knives. A _hell_ of a lot of knives.

Her hand went down to her hip instinctively, feeling bare because of the absence of her small brown knife. What a shame it had been that she hadn't been able to find it along with the rest of her things. It could be anywhere, and in any _one_ 's hands, and she had no idea where that could be. They could be using it . . . To kill. Living _people_. She shuddered at the thought and went back to looking at the knives on the wall.

There was a lot to choose from. A variety of different models. Short, long, thick, thin. And in every colour Beth could think of. Knives weren't the only things hung up there though. There were clubs, hammers, drills, even a chainsaw, and lots of other useful tools. There was also a few boxes of nails left, and some wire.

"Great," she muttered with a smile.

She reached to pick up a long, sharp machete . . . then stopped. And looked at it.

There wasn't a speck of dust on the handle, or on any of the other weapons. Come to think of it, there wasn't a lot of dust or decay on _anything_ in the place. Two years into the apocalypse, with no one to clean it up, and it was still relatively clean. No decay, no cobwebs, _clean_. . .

 _Ain't a speck o' dust on these._

 _So?_

"Shepherd!" she hissed.

The officer poked her head around the aisle again and blinked. "What?" she asked.

"How do things look to you over there?"

"Well, there's a lot of cans piled up, of food that is. Some winter coats . . . You know, stuff like you said we needed."

"And how do they _look_? Do they look . . . clean?"

She went back to check, then returned a few seconds later.

"Relatively, yeah. Why?"

Beth tightened her fingers around the handle of the pickaxe and looked around carefully. That familiar fire was coursing through her veins again, and her fingers itched on the axe's handle. Her heart was pounding in her ears, and she could feel her head beginning to pound too. She knew this sensation all too well.

 _Someone's been tendin' to it._

"I think this is someone's stash." she whispered.

"You do?"

"Months of being left unattended, and all this stuff is clean like it's been dusted by a maid . . . Someone's been inclining to it."

". . . What do we do?"

"Well from the looks of how clean this stuff is, my guess is that whoever' stash it is . . . can't be too far away."

Shepherd stared at the wall of weapons and chewed the inside of her cheek.

"Then we should take it before they come back."

Beth stared at her wide-eyed. "You wanna _rob_ them?"

"It's not exactly robbing," the woman argued, "This stuff isn't theirs specifically. It's not like they bought it or . . ."

"If we take it, they're gonna come after us."

"They'll come after us even if we don't if they see us."

"They might not."

"And what if they do?" Shepherd asked, striding closer to her. "What if they just decide to kill us anyway? Look at us. We need to be able to protect ourselves."

"And we _will_. Just not like this."

"Then what do you want us to do? You're the one who said we should come down here in the first place, and now you wanna go back empty-handed?"

"Going back empty handed is better than making someone _else_ go empty handed. Imagine if this was _your_ stash."

"You said to us that the world's not a safe place. We have to fight to survive. We do what we have to do, and this is what we have to do."

The words got caught on Beth's tongue, and she stuttered.

"You know I'm right," Shepherd sighed, "We need these things. We have to keep the others safe."

 _Don't let the world spoil you._

". . . We're not taking it _all_." Beth said quietly, and turned away to stalk down one of the aisles.

She walked over to the tower of canned food and put her hands down on the table, out of Shepherd's sight. She sighed, long and heavy, and stared at the pile of food. The woman was right, she knew that, but she still felt that this wasn't right. _Stealing_ from strangers . . . It felt wrong. Even when she and Daryl had raided the stash in the funeral home, it had felt wrong. But he'd suggested they not take it all, so that had made her feel better about it all.

The owners of all this could be good. They could be using it to keep the people they loved safe. Or they could be killers, using it to better their own selfish survival. There was no way of knowing. No way of being sure . . .

 _Creak_. The door swung open, and Beth's head whipped up in alarm. She raised the axe and kept her stance.

No way of being sure unless she came face to face with the people themselves.

The footsteps echoed into the small supermarket, and Beth pressed herself against one of the shelves. Shepherd had gone quiet at the back, probably having heard the sounds too. If only there was a way to see who had come in without making _herself_ visible.

The stranger's footsteps went down an aisle to the left, and Beth crept along the shelf quietly, breathing silent and sweat building on her brow. She tip-toed along after the footsteps, grip tight on her weapon, and tried not to panic as they led towards the back where the weapons and Shepherd had been. She stopped when the footsteps did, and pressed further against the shelf.

There was a low mutter of a cuss word, and Beth held her breath. Whoever it was must have noticed their supply had been poked at.

The footsteps started again then and traveled all along the back towards where the food had been. Beth followed the sounds, treading as quietly as possible in her damned loud cowboy boots, and nearly screamed when she bumped into Shepherd, who was sneaking around too. She brought a finger to her lips, and the woman nodded. She was holding a considerably large knife and screwdriver, probably what the stranger had noticed were missing. Beth nodded and lifted her weapon, before creeping along the aisle after the sound of feet, with the female officer close behind her. They came to a corner, and Beth slowly poked her head out from behind it to try to get a closer look at the mystery figure.

She tried to poke her head out further, but caught her foot on a packet of marbles on the floor and kicked them accidentally, sending them rolling away and knocking over a box with a loud _crash!_

The figure down the aisle spun at an impossible speed and pointed his weapon directly where Beth and Shepherd stood. Beth rose her pickaxe and sucked in a breath . . . Before freezing completely.

A _man_ stood several feet away. A man with shaggy hair, clad in dark leather, and holding a huge crossbow at them.

"Daryl—!?" she gasped, and stopped.

No. This wasn't Daryl. He wore a black leather jacket, wielded a crossbow, and had the dark hair and whiskers too . . . But he wasn't Daryl.

His arms were lined with tattoos of all design and colour, inking his entire skin with bizarre art. And his _face_. . . It bore a most horrific burn across the whole right side of his face. Raw, marred flesh, cracked and burned. It was horrendous, frightening even, and Beth resisted the urge to tremble.

"The fuck you just say?" he spat, pointing the bow right at her. "You been pokin' around my shit? Ya got some nerve!"

"We didn't mean . . ."

Words escaped Beth, and she just stood with her mouth hanging open. Even if there were a lot of things that made them different . . . The similarities were _astounding_. Even the low, gritty voice was like his. Only this man was far more sinister sounding.

They were in serious trouble if she couldn't think of something fast.

He narrowed his eyes. "Didn' mean _what_? To touch my shit? To _take_ my shit?"

Shepherd held the weapons guiltily, and Beth stood in front of her. "We didn't know it was yours," she argued.

"Well, it is. S'fuckin' _mine_. So why don't ya be a good girl an' give it back, ok?"

"Put them down on the floor," she whispered to Shepherd, and the woman obeyed.

He smiled, terrifyingly with his charred face. "That's right. Now slide 'em over here."

"Put your weapon down first," Beth said carefully, "Then we'll give them to you."

His smile vanished, and Beth felt her stomach churn.

"What was that?" he asked through gritted teeth, "You givin' _me_ orders?"

"No, I just—"

"Jus' _what_?"

Once again, words failed her, and she held Molly's pickaxe tightly. What would the others do in a situation like this? What would Rick and Daryl do?

"S'matter, blondie? Cat got yer tongue?"

"I just don't want you to put an arrow in my chest when I come an' give these to you," she said, and he laughed.

"Ya think I might shootcha by accident?"

". . . Not by accident."

His eyes went dark then, and his lips pressed into a tight line. And a chill went down Beth's spine. This was the look of a killer. A man unafraid to get his hands dirty, and Beth was almost afraid for a moment. Until a pair of arms came from behind where the man was standing and knocked the crossbow he was holding right out of his hands.

He turned in shock, and Beth smiled in relief when she saw Morgan holding him in place.

"Heard what was goin' down," Morgan said, holding the struggling Daryl-lookalike in his grasp. "Thought ya could use some help."

Her grin widened. "Yeah. Thanks."

"Let go of me, fucker!" the stranger spat, struggling in Morgan's powerful hold and kicking. "Yer gonna fuckin' regret this!"

"And you're gonna regret screwing with _us_." was Morgan's eerie reply.

He tossed Beth a large bag, and she opened it to find it full of rifles and shotguns. Shepherd pulled one out and marveled at it.

The stranger struggled more. "You think you can just take our stuff?" he asked, "You think you can just take it an' get away with it?"

" _Our_ stuff. So there's more than one of you? You a group?"

"I ain't tellin' you _shit_!"

"We don't wanna hurt you," Beth said, "Or your friends."

He snorted and struggled more. "That's fucking _rich_!" he laughed, "Everybody's out to hurt everybody now! S'just the way the world is!"

"Not us."

"Well good for you, sunshine."

He moved so quickly then that it all seemed to blur. First, he had knocked his head back against Morgan's, forcing him to release his iron grip on him, and the next thing Beth knew he was running. He'd picked his bow up and darted out of the shop, and Beth ran out after him despite Shepherd's cries.

"Wait!" she called.

"Just you wait!" he shouted back, "My people'll make ya regret this! Just wait!"

"We're not a threat, _stop_!"

For such a towering guy, he ran like a deer, and Beth couldn't catch up to him. He vanished around a street corner and then was gone from sight, leaving Beth standing panting. The ground was too dry for him to have left any tracks, and he wasn't bleeding so there wasn't a blood trail to follow either. He had well and truly escaped.

And what was the cost? He'd said they would regret what they'd done. That his people would make them regret it. It wasn't exactly like they'd done anything _really_ bad. Perhaps things could be talked out?

Somehow though, she truly doubted that.

" _Beth_!"

Morgan and Shepherd came running after her, and she turned to face them. "Did he get away?" Shepherd asked, and she nodded.

"Any idea where he went?" Morgan inquired, and she shook her head that time.

"He just vanished . . . But he's gonna come back. He's gonna come back with people, and guns, and we're not gonna like it."

"What do we do?"

"We run."

.

.

"You're serious? _This_ is the plan?"

"You got a better one?" Beth shouted back as she darted through the dead town. "Damn it, why can't I get this stupid radio working?" she grumbled, bashing the device with her fist.

Of course, the thing flared to life after she'd said that, and Effy's voice was audible on the other end.

 _"Beth?"_ she asked, the audio broken and slightly unclear.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief. "Effy! Thank god! Listen, I know this is outta the blue, but I need you to do something."

 _"Like what?"_

"Right, there's a blue pack inside the car I was in. Inside are three grenades Morgan found in Crawford. Two are duds, but one of them should work. I need you to get in the car, get the one that works ready, and sit tight 'till I get to you."

 _"Okay, but_ — _do I know_ — _works?"_

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

 _"How do_ — _know which_ — _works?"_

"Think she's trying to ask how does she know which one works," Shepherd shouted.

"Right! Yeah. Effy, we started dismantling the other two so look for the one that looks the most intact!"

 _"Okay!"_

Before she broke the transmission, she pressed down on the button one last time. "And watch out for a guy with a burned face and a crossbow!"

She shoved the radio away and ran faster, her two companions right on her tail, running through the deserted streets towards the exit. She leaped over a broken pavement and stumbled on a piece of gravel, and Morgan reached out to steady her toppling form. She nodded in thanks, and they carried on running. Just as they were running up the hill to where they'd left the vehicles, the radio crackled again and Effy's voice cried out again.

 _"We've got trouble heading this way!"_ she said, voice heavily alarmed.

"What?" Beth probed, "Did they get to you? What is it, Eff? _What_?"

Effy didn't have a chance to answer, because the radio cut off, and as they made their way over the hill . . . they saw what was wrong with their very own eyes.

"My God . . ." Morgan muttered, and Shepherd gasped.

A large cluster of walkers laid out beyond on the road they'd driven from.

Not as large as the ones they'd faced in the big cities, but by no means _small_. The creatures followed them everywhere! Was there truly nowhere that was safe from their wandering?

"Guys!" Tanaka's voice called from one of the vehicles, and Beth's head whipped in their direction.

They were sitting in their car, Effy in the passenger seat with a grenade cradled carefully on her lap, like Beth had told her. And Edwards was trembling and holding the briefcase close.

"Come _on_!" the cop called again, "We don't really have the time to be standing around gawking! Get in your car and go!"

Morgan yanked open the door to the driver's seat and started the ignition, and Shepherd jumped onto the front seat beside him. Beth threw all the guns Morgan had gathered into the back and climbed in with them. She slammed her hand against the leather seats and kicked.

"Drive, drive!" she yelled, and Morgan put his foot down.

The engine roared to life and the car soared forward, down the road and _into_ the small fishing town. Hopefully, the burned stranger with the bow had lied about the other people and high-tailed it out of there. Because if not . . . They were in for some serious trouble.

The radio crackled again, and Effy spoke again. " _They're right on our tail, I don't know if we can make it away in time!"_

"You still have that grenade?" Beth asked.

 _"Yeah."_

"How good is your aim?"

 _"You want_ — _to throw a_ grenade _at those things? Will_ — _work?"_

"It might not _kill_ them, but it'll buy us some time to get away."

 _". . . Okay."_ Effy said finally, _"I can do it."_

Beth smiled. "Good girl. Just open the window and let the thing loose. Pull the cap at the top first and then toss it."

She looked through the back window and saw Effy's window lowering, then the girl leaning out to look back at the angry mob of corpses chasing them. _Running_ after them.

They really shouldn't be able to move like that.

But thoughts like that were better saved for another time, because Effy pulled the trigger on the grenade and hurled it out into the stampeding herd.

It went off with a bang.

A ring of fire erupted from the tiny green capsule, lighting the walkers with fire and slowing their damned fast movements to a stagger. Like they normally moved. And the cars seemed to drive at rocket speed because of their new slowed speed.

Tanaka's _whoop!_ of victory could be heard through the wound down windows, and Shepherd released a sigh of relief and joy. Effy burst out into laughter, and even Morgan's lips curled into a smile, as Beth saw through the mirror. Beth herself, couldn't stop the smile that formed on her own lips and sunk back into the rear seat in exhaustion.

Though it was small, that counted as a kind of victory. A _win_. And that was something to rejoice over . . . If for only a short thirty-three seconds in total.

"You're fucking kiddin' me." she heard Morgan mumble, and jumped when he hit the brakes hard, jolting her forward and knocking her cheek against the seat. The other car only just stopped in time without crashing into them, and Beth was about to yell what the hell he was doing . . . When she saw.

"Better get out yer vehicles an' put yer hands in the air!" the man with the burn scar shouted from in front of the car, bow held out and pointed right at them.

Beth wanted to believe that his arrows couldn't puncture glass, but she'd seen what Daryl's could do, and she had one of her very own tucked away in her boot. So perhaps it was best that they _did_ do what he said.

He hadn't been lying about the backup either, she also noticed, as there were two men stood behind him armed with rifles.

"What do we do?" Morgan asked quietly, not turning his head to reduce his movements.

Beth looked at him firmly.

"We do what he says," she whispered.

" _What_?" hissed Shepherd, "Are you insane? Look at him, the guy's crazy. You really think he won't just gun us down the minute we go out there?"

"He'll gun us down either way if we don't. If we do what he says—"

"I don't think talking is gonna work here, Beth. Also, there's that _herd_ coming this way too."

Beth's mouth tightened. ". . . I wasn't gonna say that." she said finally, "I was gonna say if we do what he says an' don't disobey him . . . He won't see a blow coming his way."

Shepherd's mouth parted in understanding.

"I ain't got all fuckin' day!" the stranger yelled.

Morgan and Shepherd went quiet, and Beth nodded. She turned on the radio to inform the others and then hid it in her pack.

"Do what he says," was all she said to them.

They each got out of the cars and stepped out onto the hard gravel.

The man signaled their supplies with his bow. "Now drop yer shit," he said.

They did, with no reluctance.

"Good." he smiled, "So you _can_ be cooperative." Beth resisted the urge to glare and watched as he turned to his companions. "Mark," he said to the taller, stronger built man. "Take the men to the holding room. Matty an' I'll handle the chicks."

Just one guy? Taking on Morgan and two other men? Did they really underestimate them that much?

That was fine. That wasn't a problem. Underestimating was a mistake. Even if they were in a bad situation. Underestimating someone's strength now was _always_ a mistake.

"Don't give him any trouble," she whispered to Morgan, who nodded in response.

She must not have been quiet enough because the man with the burn scar on his face heard and walked over to her, his bow still in his hand and fully loaded.

She swallowed.

"You got somethin' to say, blondie?" he asked, so close that his face had to be tilted down to look at her. He was big and powerful looking, but he was even bigger and more powerful looking up close. His arms were thick and ropy with muscle, as was his chest that was exposed with his open leather vest. She forced herself to look up and meet his gaze, and try not to shiver at the sight of his charred face up close. The skin was broken and angry-red; chapped and infected. The flesh around his eyeball had melted away, revealing the painfully white in contrast ball in plain sight, moving as he looked her up and down.

"What was that ya said to your friend just then?" he asked, and she did glare this time.

"Nothing."

He studied her for a while and she tried not to appear uncomfortable under his rough gaze. "Nothin', huh?" he said through gritted teeth. "Well, that's too bad, 'cause you an' your friends are comin' with us."

"Where?" she asked.

He smiled then, and Beth was sure the look of repulsion was visible on her face. The burned skin stretched when he smiled and cracked.

"Somewhere we can deal wit' you for your . . . rudeness, towards us an' our possessions."

"All this over a few guns and tools?"

"It ain't just _guns an' tools_ to us, missy. We need that shit. To, y'know, stay alive."

"And _dealing_ with us helps you stay alive?"

His smile widened. "In a way . . . But mostly it's just for fun."

The man called Matty picked up their weapons that lay on the floor, but little did he know that a bolt sat tucked in Beth's boot still, hidden away for future use. And use it, she would. Because she was going to keep the others safe at any cost, especially from the likes of people like _this_ man.

"C'mon, Dwight," Mark called when he had a decent hold on Morgan and had ushered the tied up Edwards and Tanaka to walk ahead. "We're wastin' time, man."

And the man with the burn scar smiled again and caught Effy by the arm. "Yeah. Let's go," he said, and pulled the shivering girl along.

Beth frowned in her new restraints and followed behind Shepherd, Matty walking behind with their weapons and packs in his arms. She turned to look over her shoulder for signs of the herd but found none. If they didn't find a way to get out of this soon . . . Things were going to go to shit.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Comic lovers, I trust you noticed the addition of _Dwight_. If you don't read the comic, that's fine, I'll go more into him later. But if you do... Then you might be able to create a clearer image with where I'm going with this. (You can google and find out what he looks like if you want, but I described him as best I could.)

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! As always, let me know what you think in a review. I _looove_ reviews.


	18. Maybe we'll be all right

**Author's Corner**

Okay, so I just have a couple of things to say here before you read the chapter. First of all, thank you for all the constant support, you mean so much to me honestly. I wouldn't be able to keep going if not for you, so YOU'RE AWESOME!

Secondly, I've had a couple of you asking when Daryl is going to come into this story. And I understand your impatience completely. It's been seventeen chapters... still no sign of Daryl... you're getting impatient. I get that. I'm the same when I'm reading stories too. But I can't stress enough that this is upfront a _BETH_ STORY, about BETH GREENE exploring the development and growth of _BETH GREENE_. Sure it's Bethyl too, but that's not the primary focus. Right now, Daryl is far away in Virginia, and Beth and these people are only just entering South Carolina. When he does come, it's not going to be quite yet. Romance will come, just later. You have to get your hands dirty before they're cleaned. Have to fuck some shit up before you can fix it with hurt/comfort fluff scenes. So please hear me when I say, all that will come later, I promise. But this isn't the type of story that jumps straight into that, so if you want to read one of those whilst reading mine (there's hundreds trust me) then go ahead, I do it lmao. But please understand that this story is about Beth herself first.

Now rant over, I just wanted to direct you to some fanart I did for this fic if you're interested. The link to my tumblr is in my bio, so if you follow it and look at my _Running Blind_ tag, you'll find the images. Just thought you might like to see for reading purposes. ;)

So without further ado... Let's be on with it. There's another familiar character in this chapter too, just sayin'.

 **Disclaimer:** TWD or its characters do not belong to me, I only own my own characters and the plot.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Wherever it was that the man with the burn on his face had led them, it was dark. Impossibly dark, and cold. _Oh_ , it was so cold. Beth stared up at the depressing ceiling, kneeling on the dirty floor with her wrists and ankles bound with rope, gnawing on her lip.

This was bad. Very bad. Even if these people refused to acknowledge it, there was a herd coming, and a big one too. This was hardly the time to be sitting in a cold cell of a room, tied and restrained, whilst there were monsters on their way to eat you.

Now was the time to _run_.

The sound of Effy's stifled sobs had died down a while ago and the girl now sat bound beside Beth with frivolously shaking shoulders and dampened cheeks. Crying had not affected their captors in the slightest. Shepherd sat on Beth's other side, shifting her bound wrists uncomfortably, the rope rubbing her flesh raw so it would be angry red once removed. _If_ it would ever be removed. It had been a while since Beth had seen either Morgan, Edwards, or Tanaka, and nor had she heard any trace of them apart from the sound of Morgan's angry rebuking from another room in the store they were in. One of the men, _Mark_ , had taken him somewhere separate, and only God knew what he was doing to him.

Beth hoped the man hadn't been hurt too badly.

Edwards must have been immensely distraught, however, as the precious briefcase had been stripped from him and now lay at the bottom of his pack in the pile with the rest of their things. With their _weapons_. All Beth had was the bolt in her boot, but she couldn't reach it with the ropes tied around her wrists.

A loud pained grunt echoed from through the wall, one that sounded rather similar to Morgan's, and Beth winced.

 _Please let him be okay,_ she prayed. _Please don't let them hurt him too bad, if not at_ all . . . _Don't let him suffer any more._

And it was in that moment that the man with the burn scar— _Dwight_ , she'd heard him be called—came into the room, light bursting into the once dark room as he strode in. Beth lifted her head and met his gaze, her eyes narrow and sharp and her mouth pulled into a fierce glower of defiance.

He noticed her expression and tutted. "Now, now," he shook his head, "Not a nice face yer pullin' there, is it?"

She didn't reply and simply scowled harder. Dwight frowned in return and crouched down before her, his face mere inches away from her own as he stared into her eyes. She wanted to look away but refused to grant him that satisfaction of seeing her cower. Wouldn't grant him that _pleasure_. And also, as funny as it was, the thing that made her the most uncomfortable about him was not the hideous mark upon the left side of his face that left his skin cracked open and his eye socket hanging wide . . . it was his striking physical resemblance to Daryl, as well as the _contrast_ between the two of them.

Beth looked at Dwight and saw leather, muscle, and obscurity. She looked at his oily shaggy hair and thought of Daryl's in the hot Georgia sun. There was that same feral look in his eyes—or one working eye in this case—that Daryl had. The same piercing intensity and look of ruthlessness . . . but also a flash of something so _lost_. Something that made Beth wonder that maybe, just maybe . . . there was something more to this man's terrible actions. Something hiding just beneath the surface.

But the biggest difference between the two was that unlike Dwight, Daryl had not, and would never, ever intentionally hurt her.

Daryl had always been a protector, someone Beth had admired and respected, but Dwight . . . she neither admired nor respected him, and she had no reason to. Not after what he'd done to them.

"Ain't ya gonna say somethin'?" he asked finally, still crouching so he was eye-level with her.

Her eyes narrowed even further.

"I've told you already, but you won't listen," she said finally, "There's a herd of those things coming this way. They're gonna trample this place down as well as everyone in it. You have to _leave_ this place. _Now_."

He chuckled darkly and shook his head. "See, ya say that . . . but you don't give me a reason to believe ya."

"Why _wouldn't_ you believe me?"

"Well, first of all—yer a stranger. Second—I caught you and your people stealin' our shit. An' third—ya demonstrated hostile intent."

" _Hostile intent_?" she laughed, "When? And how?"

"By endangerin' my people."

"You mean your group of kidnapping psychopaths?"

"I'd hardly use _that_ term t'describe us."

"Well, I haven't seen enough of your people to pass a better judgement than that. Maybe if I could see someone else, someone a little more reasonable than you, then things wouldn't be so hard."

He chuckled again, "D'you really think I'd let you loose around people ya could be a danger to? Don't be stupid, blondie."

Ignoring his rudeness, her eyes darkened and flashed with a strange shadowy glimmer. Dwight almost looked startled at the sight of it.

"What makes you think I'm _dangerous_?" she asked quietly, her tone dripping with hinted malevolence.

He didn't answer and rose to his feet. He stared down at her with a deep scowl, before turning towards the door. But Beth wasn't finished with him yet.

"If you walk out that door instead of listening to me, _you're_ the one that's putting your people in danger."

He tilted his head back to look at her. "Because of this imaginary herd you say's comin'?"

"If you don't believe me just look for yourself. They can't be too far away now."

"Which is why we have to get out of here while we still can!" Shepherd threw in, and Dwight threw her a glare.

"If there _is_ a herd," he said, "Then _we_ can get out nice an' simple. It's _y_ _ou_ who's tied up like dogs. I'd say we're considerably less fucked than you are."

Beth shook her head and bit her tongue. "Are you really so stubborn you're willing to die for it?"

He turned and looked at her again, his gaze eerie and dark, and Beth nearly shivered. He didn't say anything to that and finally walked out, closing the door behind him and leaving them in faint darkness once again.

"That didn't go so well," Effy mumbled with a deflated expression.

"No . . ." Beth whispered, "It didn't."

.

.

A few hours later, sometime after Effy had laid down her head on the cold floor and managed to fall asleep, another man came in.

He was of the men that had dragged the others away. The one whose name Beth thought was Mark.

He walked in with a tray of food and placed it down before them.

Beth stared up at him, her eyes furious, and he blinked. He was quite a large man in build—not fat, but rather more muscular. His broad shoulders and ropy arms undoubtedly came from hours of labour and working to stay alive. His dark eyes seemed to bore into her as she glared at him, but there didn't seem to be anything particularly sinister about what she saw in them. He didn't _alarm_ her quite the way that Dwight did, and maybe that was good.

So she tried a different tactic.

One she knew she was very good at.

"Hey . . ." she started, her voice having softened as she forced the illusion helplessness into her features.

Playing the mouse had always worked to her advantage.

A mouse could scurry away to smaller places a wolf could not.

A mouse went unnoticed, undermined, and underestimated.

". . . Yes?" he asked, cautiously.

No one ever thought to be wary of a mouse.

She withdrew the remaining traces of defiance from her expression and tried to appear frightened.

"I was just wondering," she whispered, "What exactly do you plan to do to us? . . . Are you really going to hurt us?"

He didn't respond.

Either the answer was so terrible that he couldn't bring himself to be able to say it, or he was just too shocked at the fact she complete turnaround in her personality. The hostility she'd demonstrated before was gone, replaced by the shivering skin of a girl she used to cover the wolf underneath.

But even with that front risen, she still spoke with a sureness and cunning that she thought even Rick might be proud of.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, a little firmer this time, "I asked what you're plannin' to do to us. Please, tell us."

"I don't know the answer to your question."

She blinked.

". . . What?" she frowned, and suddenly the mask was gone "What do you mean you don't _know_? You're holding us hostage when a herd's on its way, not even bothering to make a run for it . . . And you don't know _why_ you're doing it?"

"Hey, hey!" he waved his hands, "Don't get all antsy over it. All I meant was _I_ don't know what we're gonna do with you. Someone else will."

"You mean Dwight? He decides what happens to us."

He seemed thrown by her complete 180 and simply nodded. "Yeah."

There it was again in his eyes, that foreign emotion that wasn't malice or killing intent.

What _was_ it?

"Is he going to kill us?" she asked, barely a whisper. This whisper was filled with no fear, though.

He looked away and balled his fists.

She didn't like his reaction.

"I know what you think," he said, "But Dwight's a good guy . . . He's not perfect, but he's gotten us through some pretty terrible things. We owe him a lot."

"I've seen good guys, and he doesn't seem like one to me."

". . . Can you say that good guys even exist anymore?"

Shepherd was staring at the sleeping Effy as Beth spoke with Mark, her hand coming up and brushing the girl's bruised cheek lightly. An act so soft she must have thought that Beth wasn't paying attention, but she was. She paid more attention to them than they thought she did.

"Think of it from our point of view. You came into our town, tried to steal our goods, then acted aggressively and put our people at risk. To us, _you're_ the bad guys."

"If good people don't exist anymore like you said, then aren't we all the bad guys? It's all about perspective. Which is why you should at least hear us out before you slit our throats and leave us for the walkers."

"Dwight won't just set all of you free to wander out and about without restraints in the same place as our people. He doesn't trust you. And to be honest . . . Neither do I."

She chewed on the inside of her cheek and tilted her head to the side. A thick clump of hair fell from behind her ear, but she couldn't move her hand to fix it, so it just hung over her eye like a curtain. Blinding, with wiry gold tresses caked in blood and mud. She stared at Mark for a while, eyes flickering and calculating, trying to figure him out.

"What if I could prove we're trustworthy?"

"I don't see how you're gonna manage that the way you are now."

"Well, I can't prove it from here, but if you untie me and let me speak to someone, maybe I can make you understand—"

He shot her a look. "You're asking me to _untie_ you? Really? I don't think so, kiddo."

 _Kiddo_.

For some reason, that stung. She wasn't a kid. Not anymore. Not since everything she'd known had gone burning down and she'd run for her life after a cluster of strangers that were all basically killers and brutes deep down inside. Good people . . . Bad people . . . What decides which is which? Was there really such a thing as good and bad guys anymore, or were they all just the same? All just doing whatever they had to to survive, no matter how immoral the act.

 _Keeping our humanity, that's a choice._

Not a choice anyone could make anymore.

She'd been running with a pack of wild dogs, fighting, growling, _surviving_. She was no pup, nor was she a kid. And she was going to do everything in her power to prove just that.

"Fine, don't untie me. But please just take me to someone who'll listen. Do you have anybody like that here?"

"No. Now, keep your mouth shut and don't do anythin' stupid, if you and your friends wanna live."

"So you _are_ gonna kill us?"

"I never said that—"

"You did!"

His expression soured and he scowled. "Look. I know this isn't exactly the best situation for you, but it isn't what you think. We aren't heartless murderers who wanna slit your throats or rape you. At least, not all of us—"

Beth spat in his face.

He leaped in surprise and jolted back, his hand coming up and wiping the saliva from his cheek. His expression darkened just a little then out of momentary anger and he looked at her with a hint of malice, but also regret.

For what?

She couldn't begin to guess because she was out before she could even think.

"Wrong reaction, girl," he said, "Now, I'm sorry for this."

Then he thrust his fist over the back of her head hard, knocking her out cold.

.

.

When Beth came to, she was in a different room to where she had been with Effy and Shepherd, and the spot on her head where Mark had stuck her hurt like _hell_.

She rubbed it, groaning, and looked around. This room was smaller, and colder, making fresh goosebumps rise on her neck and cheeks. She also noticed that her hands and ankles were no longer tied and she could move around freely.

 _Big mistake_ , she thought on their part.

She was having no more of this madness, so she rose gradually to her feet and walked towards the room's door.

 _Today_ _. . ._ _This_ ends _._

The door was cast iron and freezing to the touch, but it also had a small glass window at the top that looked breakable if struck with enough force. She spotted a sweeping brush in one corner and went for it. The handle was tough and durable, and hopefully capable of smashing the glass. She thrust it into the small window, shattering the glass into pieces so that it fell at her feet with a loud _smash!_

With an opening now formed, she shoved her hand through it and groped around for the outside handle. She hissed in pain when she scraped her arm along an extra sharp piece of broken glass still remaining, causing a thick wave of blood to pour down her arm.

 _More scars to add to that arm_ , she panted heavily and reached for the handle again. After more agonising scrapes on the glass, her fingers finally connected with it and she hauled the door open, thick red liquid oozing from her wrist and forearm as he stepped out into the corridor. It would have been a better idea to use the arm that had the cast on it for protection, but it was too late for that now. The sound of blood dripping onto the floor was making her feel slightly nauseous coupled with the throbbing in her head, but she shook it off and strode down the dimly illuminated hallway.

She reached for Molly's pickaxe and stilled when she realised that they'd taken it along with the rest of her weapons. Everything except . . .

She leaned down and pulled the bolt out of her boot, then gripped it in her hand. The feeling of a weapon in her hand no longer felt frightening as it has before. It was protection, power, and she was glad to have it.

Voices became audible just down the hall, and she gripped the bolt tighter. She walked further, ready to do god knows what, before stopping dead in her tracks, her jaw opening wide at what she saw down the corridor . . .

There was a child.

A _child_ , standing mere feet away from her, surely no older than ten or eleven. A child with spooked, brown eyes, and shaggy brown hair. He was holding some kind of pot and staring at her like she was a monster, his shoulders shaking with fear and lower lip trembling. She supposed she must look like some kind of monster, all covered in walker grime and dirt, and her face lined with scars and bruises and blood trickling down her equally scarred arm.

But that was impossible. How was a _child_ this young in the same place as the vicious men that had taken her? What was he _doing_ here with them?

She lifted her hand towards him, ignoring the sharp jab of pain she felt from the gaping slits in her arm, and opened her mouth to speak. But of course, he made a run for it in the opposite direction, dropping the pot so that it fell to the ground with a loud _crash!_ and shattered into tiny fragments of porcelain.

"No, wait!" she called, rushing after him.

He sprinted down the corridor and darted into a room, and Beth chased after him. She ran into the room he'd run into and came to a halt with her hands held up.

A woman stood pointing a gun at her, with the little boy standing behind her and clutching her cardigan.

Beth dropped the bolt and went motionless, gaze locked on the mystery woman.

"Who are you?" she barked. "And what are you doing here?"

Beth blinked in confusion at the question. ". . . You . . . You don't know why I'm here?"

The woman cocked an eyebrow. "No. Why would I?"

Though being held at gunpoint was intimidating, the woman's voice was oddly soft-spoken, and Beth couldn't help but try to see past the tough front she could be putting up to protect the child.

This woman was not like Dwight, and nor was Mark she dared to think . . .

"Your people took mine," she explained carefully, being sure not to move too fast or say the wrong thing that would result in her having her brains blown out.

 _Again_.

Frowning in confusion, the woman stared at her. "What? What're you talking about?"

Now Beth was the one to frown in confusion. Not only was there a child here when there really shouldn't be, now this woman didn't even seem to know what was going on in the slightest. There was definitely something Beth was missing, but _what_?

"You don't know that Dwight and two other of your men took me and my friends and are holdin' us captive in here?"

Her eyes widened excessively at that, and she lowered the gun ever so to some extent.

"They took our things and locked us up in here. I tried to explain but they wouldn't listen. So I escaped . . . Or, I'm _trying_ to, as well as get my friends out too."

The gun was lowered entirely now, and the woman just stared at her.

"Are you . . . telling the truth?"

Beth brought a hand to her heart, ignoring the blood soaking into her checked shirt, and nodded before answering as earnestly as her voice could muster.

"Yes."

The little boy peeked up at the blonde from behind the woman, big brown eyes huge and blinking. Beth met his gaze, and he hid further behind the woman in fright. Having children fear her was one of the worst-case scenarios for Beth. She only wished he would know that she would never, _ever_ , hurt an innocent child.

She could never be that far gone.

"I'm gonna take you to the others." the woman declared, and Beth dropped her hand.

She leaned down to pick up the bolt she had dropped, but the woman pointed the gun at her again. "No," she shook her head, "Leave it."

She felt a pang of pain at the thought of leaving the precious arrow, but stood up properly and merely passed it a longing glance. The woman nodded for her to walk, and followed behind with the gun held to Beth's back. Feeling the need to at least put their minds at ease, Beth tilted her head and said,

"I don't wanna hurt you."

". . . Neither do I."

.

.

The woman's name was _Lilly_ , Beth had learned from an awkward conversation on the way to wherever she was being taken.

Lilly Chambler. And the little boy's name was Gregg.

She'd given her own name out of habit and friendly outlook, and it seemed to relax Lilly and Gregg just a little upon learning her name.

"So basically what you're saying is that Dwight took you and your people, stashed your supplies and weapons, and then locked you up in here," Lilly asked, the gun still pressed into the lower part of Beth's back as she pushed her along.

Though the pressure had eased slightly, and the woman's voice had grown the slightest bit softer.

"Yeah," Beth nodded, "I tried telling him about the herd coming, but he wouldn't listen. We gotta get out'a here . . . Before they come."

She saw Gregg's grip on the woman's hand tighten at the ominous edge to her words, and he kept his gaze locked on the floor. Beth couldn't help wondering if the boy was Lilly's son, with how protective she was over him and how he seemed to literally cling to her like a limpet. But then again perhaps he wasn't.

A person didn't need to be a child's mother to nurture one.

"In understand Dwight's intentions for keeping us safe, but if there's a herd of those things on its way like you say . . . then precautions aside, we really do need to get out of here."

They led her through a doorway then, and Beth's eyes widened at the sight of so many people in one place. There were men, women, more children, and even a few elderly all huddled up in the decent sized room. They sat close for warmth, and all lifted their heads at the sight of a stranger standing in the doorway, with a gun held to her back. One of the children at the front darted back to a tall woman and stared at Beth from behind her back with wide frightened eyes.

"Terry." Lilly called, and a slender but strong looking man rose to his feet, "Where are Dwight, Matty, and Mark?"

"They were all together I saw them," he replied, eyes fixed on Beth, ". . . Dragging _her_ in here in restrains."

The room fell even more silent, atmosphere awkward and tense, and Beth felt she should say something.

"She says there's a massive bunch of biters headed this way," Lilly answered for her, "It's not safe here anymore. We have to leave."

"You're really gonna trust what _she_ says?" someone from the crowd piped up.

Lilly's gaze fell on a woman knelt beside one of the elderly people.

"Trust or not, I'd rather take the benefit of the doubt and _not_ be eaten by those things. Better to be safe than sorry. What if it turns out she _is_ telling the truth, but we don't listen? And then comes the massacre. I've _seen_ what a herd of those things can do, been caught up in it, and trust me . . . You're not gonna want to be in the middle of it when it happens."

The children whimpered, and a few started to cry.

Beth did speak then.

"Listen . . . I understand that you might not believe me, I'm a stranger after all, and since when has a stranger brought much good before? But believe me when I say this . . . I would never, _ever_ , lie about something that would get innocent people killed. That's not who I am."

The woman who had rebuked stared at her with uneasy eyes, and Beth turned her gaze to the crying children and thought of the mass mob of flesh-devouring creatures on its way to them, and felt her resolve strengthen.

"I'm like you," she went on, "Doing whatever I can to keep the people I know safe. I'd probably do the same thing if I were you when a stranger came near. But we have more in common than you think."

Beth felt the pressure of the gun at her back fading again, Lilly slowly lowering it as she spoke.

She imagined how she must look to these people. Stitched up face, wild unkempt hair, arm dripping with blood, and covered from head to toe in grime and walker guts. She must look like the people who'd ridden up to her farm that darkest day, all covered in sweat and dust, bleeding, screaming of creatures and beasts. A _wild thing_.

But that wasn't all she was, and these people needed to see that. If they were to listen. If they were to _understand_.

"Your leader took my people and all our things. They're not safe now, an' I'm doing what I can to change that. I'm trying to _save_ them . . . Surely you must understand that?"

A silence stretched until someone eventually spoke up.

". . . Terry . . . ?" a weak female voice croaked from the crowd.

Beth cut her speech and followed the sound with her eyes until her gaze fell upon the speaker.

It was a frail looking woman with dark rings around her eyes and sweat coating her body. She stated up at the man called Terry, her breathing rough and laboured. He sat down beside her and put a hand on her shoulder lightly.

"Yes, Lisa?"

"Do . . . you know when Mark will be back?"

"Your husband should be back anytime now, don't worry yourself too much."

The blanket wrapped around the woman's torso shifted when she coughed, and Beth outwardly gasped when she saw a swollen, _rounded belly_ poking out, a sign of what could only be _that_.

Several people stared at her again for her outburst, and she brought a hand up to cover her mouth in incredulity.

 _No_ , her mind screamed. _Not this._

 _Not again._

Lilly watched her with a confused frown, and it was that moment that Dwight and the other two men chose to waltz back in.

Dwight stared at her with wide eyes at first, that quickly narrowed and became a grimace, and he pointed his crossbow at her. She spun and rose her hands again, pleading with her eyes not to end up with an arrow through her skull.

"Wait!" Lilly called.

Dwight stared at he was the one with a weapon aimed at his head.

" _Wait?_ " he bellowed, "Are you crazy? She's out an' in here with everyone, unbound an' dangerous. What if she tries somethin'!?"

"Why didn't you tell us about the herd?"

He stopped.

"And how it's coming this way?"

". . . She tell ya that?" he asked, finger squeezing the trigger more sharply, making Beth resist the urge to gulp comically. "An' you _believed_ her?"

"I'm not saying I believe anything," Lilly rebuked calmly, "But what I am thinking is, what if she's right? What do we do if a load of them come through here right now, and we all die because we didn't listen to her?"

"That won't happen."

"A man I knew thought like that, and he ended up dead in a field of those things, with a bullet through his brain. He told us we'd be safe, and he was wrong. So how can _you_ be so sure?"

He didn't answer, and Mark and Matty exchanged looks behind him. He bit his lip but didn't lower the bow. He seemed to be fighting an inner battle of some kind, one which was entirely pointless and time wasting.

It was behaviour like that which got you killed.

"Mark?" the pregnant woman, Lisa, called quietly from the back, and the man's attention was instantly drawn to her.

He jogged over to her from Dwight's side and knelt beside her.

"You okay?" he asked.

She smiled weakly, "I am . . . now that you're here . . ."

Dwight cut in, "Lovely reunion an' all, man, but shouldn't we be focusin' on the problem at hand?"

"This is only a problem because you're making it one," Beth mumbled under her breath, but of course Dwight caught it.

Lilly did too because if Beth had known her a little better, she might have thought she was trying to hide a tiny snicker.

"S'that?" he asked darkly, "Care to repeat that?"

She lowered her hands and raised her voice.

"I said it's only a problem because you're _making_ it one," she replied, eyes and tone blazing with defiance.

" _I'm_ makin' it one? I s'pose you left out the part in your explanation where your guys came an' stole our shit."

"If it's so important you should take better care of it. Anyone could walk in and take it."

She neglected to mention the fact that it had been Shepherd's idea, not hers, to steal the supplies.

Someone _did_ laugh then, but it wasn't Lilly. A muffled snort from the crowd, and Beth tilted her head to get a look at where it had come from. There was a girl who looked to be early teenage years sitting beside a small group, hands clasped over her mouth to muffle the laughter.

" _Alice_ ," a man next to her warned quietly, but it didn't quell her chuckling.

Beth met her gaze and saw a twinkle in the girl's eyes. And despite the situation, she couldn't help but flash a tiny smile too.

Dwight made a noise that sounded something akin to a snarl, and Beth turned back to him. "Ya come in here actin' all high an' mighty, spoutin' all this _nonsense_ —"

"It's not nonsense! I just don't want these people to die."

Gregg was staring up at her from behind Lilly, and Beth looked down at him, summoning as much softness into her eyes as possible. He didn't scurry away under her gaze, just blinked. And she thought of Luke from the prison then, and Lizzy, and Mika, and Judy. Of those miniature shoes she and Daryl had found by the train tracks, torn and bloody, and she thought of that famous six-word novel.

 _For sale: babies shoes, never worn._

Kids that never made it on the bus, that died in the wilderness, alone and feasting on rotting blackberries.

"No more." she whispered.

Matty put a hand on Dwight's shoulder. "Hey, maybe we should calm down and try listenin' to her . . ." he said.

"What good's _listening_ gonna do? She's told us all she can now, we just gotta decide what t'do!"

"Which is . . . ?" Lilly pressed.

He opened his mouth to answer, but a loud sound prevented any sound from actually coming out. Everything went silent in the room, bodies going still, and breathing ceasing for a few seconds.

Beth turned her attention to the bordered up windows and forgot the fact that Dwight's bow was still fixed on her. She moved over to the window and peeked through a small gap, trying to see outside. Thankfully Dwight didn't shoot her for moving, but rather stood as still as a statue where he was. She studied the narrow view of the street she had, searching for something . . . _Anything_ , when Lilly joined her at the window.

". . . What was that?" she whispered.

Beth's eyes flickered along the limited view, heart thumping and head beginning to throb.

". . . I don't know."

Mark rose to his feet beside his pregnant wife and brought a finger to his lips. "Keep quiet," he said quietly, "Nobody move or make a sound."

It felt like an eternity of silence, that probably only lasted a couple of minutes . . . before it was broken.

A fragmented _snarl_ sounded from beyond the bordered up windows, and Beth felt her heartbeat shoot up as _a lone walker_ slowly staggered along the street.

Gregg pressed himself further into Lilly's side, probably trying to fight the urge to cry, when Dwight joined them at the window. Beth shifted away as the fabric of his leather jacket brushed her arm, shivering at the familiar feel and smell of old leather. He'd lowered his crossbow so it was at his side, and stared out through a gap to look for himself.

"S'only one," he slurred, "Could take it out."

"If there's one, there's a good chance there's more. Maybe even a whole herd like she said." Lilly pointed out.

"Lilly's right," Matty agreed, "What d'we do?"

Dwight snarled under his breath and uttered a few cuss words, before turning to Beth.

"Which direction did ya say these were comin' from?" he asked.

"South. They're comin' up from the main coastal highway."

"So we gotta go north." said Lilly.

"Where do we go from there though?" Mark asked from the center of the room, "What then?"

Something sparked in Beth's mind, and she stepped away from the window. It might have been crazy, and unrealistic . . . but what if it worked?

There could be a place for these people. The children, the elderly, _families_. There could be a place they could _live_ , and just _be_. . .

If she could only just _get_ them there.

Was it possible? To take these people across the plains of North and South Carolina _and_ Virginia, to reach a supposed safe civilisation they didn't even know was there. And some of these people were hardly fit or built for hiking miles across the eastern coast of America. But still . . .

Still.

They'd made it this far, hadn't they? Somehow. With the help of one another, of Dwight, even. They were still alive. So maybe . . . They could try.

 _Maybe we'll be alright._

"I know." she said after a while, "I know what we should do."

"Which is . . . ?" Dwight raised a rugged and half shaven brow.

"There's no time to explain now, but when we get out of here, I'll tell you."

Matty leaned in close and spoke quietly so that only she and those close could hear. "Y'sure are pretty optimistic about everyone here gettin' out," he said. "Dontcha mean, _if_ we get out?"

She shook her head.

"No . . . _When_."

Gregg's gaze on her was intent, and Beth did smile properly at him then. She leaned down so she was eye level with him, ignoring the way he flinched and burrowed further into Lilly at her action.

"We are getting out of here," she said directly to the little boy, "I promise you."

He blinked his big brown eyes, fingers clutching the fabric of Lilly's cardigan, and something that looked like tears swirled in his eyes. But not necessarily tears of impending doom.

Not the tears of a little child left alone in a crumbling prison.

She stood up again and looked to Dwight. "Now I just need you to give the word," she said.

He frowned, the burned section of his face scrunching up and cracking as he did. "You're fuckin' crazy." he spat, "Especially if ya think I'm gonna do anythin' _you_ say."

Beth's soft expression hardened, and she glared. Glared as fiercely as she could, and balled her fists at her side, leaning close into his face, resisting the urge to shudder at the sight of his charred profile up close.

"I know you don't trust me," she said, "You've made that perfectly clear, but you don't _need_ to trust me for this. You just gotta want to save these people enough, and know that keeping them here ain't gonna do that . . . You have to be _in charge_. You have to."

A loud bang at the window should have alarmed Beth, but she just stood staring at Dwight aggressively, watching his eyes flicker with an array of different emotions. There were the obvious ones. Anger, dislike, repulsion . . . But then there was something that looked like realisation. A realisation of _what,_ though? That she was _right_? That he could save these people, if he wanted to. That he was in charge, and needed to put that to use.

Leaders couldn't waver. Couldn't be unsure or put off decisions for too long. They had to be ready, willing to do whatever they could. No taking breaks when there was a job to be done . . . Not for the one in charge.

"Not to sound pushy or anythin', man, but made a choice o' what we're gonna do yet?" Matty asked from his side, and Dwight's eyes narrowed.

He muttered something under his breath and tapped his foot, before turning to face the room of frightened people.

"Alright," he said firmly, but kept his voice down so the dead wouldn't be alerted to it. "It's come down to this again. We're bein' forced out of another place by those things, so we gotta leave b'fore things get ugly. I don' like this any more than any of you, but in this case, I'd rather be alive than dead."

Some adults put their arms around the children and shivered.

"Now get yer things and leave through the back! Get into yer groups we left Crawford with and make for the bus. Keep calm and get the hell _out_."

Beth's eyes widened.

Crawford? What did these people have to do with that place? Were they former inhabitants, forced out because of the strict rules Molly spoke of? There _were_ a lot of children and elderly here, so it made sense.

Mark rounded up his pregnant wife and suddenly turned to Beth, tossing her a set of keys that she caught only just.

"What's . . . ?"

"I'm assuming you want to save your people too?" he asked, and one of the windows smashed open. "Better hurry!"

And then the chaos started. Everyone darted around, gathering supplies and weapons, splitting off into groups and leaving. The group's huddled together and were arranged orderly.

Beth was briefly reminded of school fire alarm practices.

 _Please leave orderly and calmly_.

Yeah right. Give then a real emergency and then watch them try to be calm. Call it what you will. Emergency, slaughter, madness . . . but Beth vowed to make sure as many people as possible came out of this on top.

 _Maybe we'll be all right._

 _I'm trying to make it that way._

 _._

 _._

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

So Lilly is the newest addition to the posse, Tara's sister, if you remember all the way back to season four. I always liked the idea of Lilly not perishing during the fall of the prison, and since you didn't technically _see_ her die, she might not be dead. Walking dead rules peeps. Kenny died in Telltale's game version by being swarmed by walkers in an alleyway, and he returned in season two alive to tell the tale. So just because a character is believed to be dead, it doesn't mean they _are_ unless you've seen it with your very own eyes.

Also the babies shoes quote is from the six-word novel _"For sale: babies shoes never worn"_ and is literally just that sentence. It's left open for your interpretation, and I took it as a baby that had died before getting to wear its first pair of shoes, thus why the shoes were never worn. Sad, I know, but fitting to the story.

As always, thanks for reading, you wonderful people, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Leave a review telling me your thoughts (hopefully a nice one please babies), and I'll answer any questions you have. Until next time!~


	19. Eight minutes

**Author's Corner**

A big THANK YOU to everyone who continues to review this thing I like to call adrenaline/heart attack/depression simulator, and to the new readers too! You guys are seriously amazing.

Also I just wanted to tell you that there's a mini reference to chapter ten somewhere in this chapter, in a scene between Morgan and Beth. It's not really too major, but let's see if you can find it, since you're all such lovely observant readers. ;)

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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.

Beth ran to where the others in her group were being imprisoned, Lilly and Dwight on her tail. Lilly, because the woman actually seemed to want to help, and Dwight, because he really, _really_ , didn't trust her.

They came to a fork in the corridors, and several nearby crashes and snarls told Beth that there wasn't going to be enough time to make each separate trip . . . Meaning they were going to have to split up.

 _Scooby_ _-_ _Doo gang._

"Where are the three men who were with me?" she asked frantically.

"We kept the one with the glasses an' the one with one arm in a separate room to the big guy. He was bein' difficult."

She turned to Lilly. "You get Shepherd and Effy. Dwight'll show me where the others are."

She tossed her a set of keys.

Dwight turned to Lilly and gave her a stern look filled with promise. "Take the others and get _out_ _ta_ here." he ordered, "Don't get caught, don't do anythin' stupid, just _run_. Run as fast as ya can, and don't look back . . . D'ya understand?"

She returned the look and nodded.

"I understand."

"Bus is parked just down the way, ya can get to it through the back alleys. Y'remember how to get everyone there, right?"

"I know."

"Go. I'll meet ya there."

And then she did just what he'd asked. _Ran_. To where Shepherd and Effy were being held, whilst Beth and Dwight ran on too in the direction of the three captive men.

The shattering of glass sounded, and Beth's heart quickened at the sound of familiar soul-crushing snarls. She increased her pace behind Dwight and let him lead her through a spiral of corridors and rooms, until he stopped suddenly and turned to face her. The urgency of his action made her suspect he was going to try something . . . But _man_ was she ready if he was.

"Big guy's in here." he said, "Best if you go in. Not so sure he's all that fond of me after all I've done."

Instead of pulling something funny, he tossed her a key and went on his way, _hopefully_ to where Edwards and Tanaka were. It wasn't very hard to determine the kinds of people who could be trusted, and Dwight certainly didn't fall into that category.

Leaving her standing dumbly outside the door with a bronze key in her palm, she blinked quickly. After coming to her senses due to a few approaching growls, she shook her head and turned the key in the lock, trying ever so hard not to draw comparisons to a similar situation with keys and walkers back in Crawford, before rushing in.

"Morgan!" she gasped at the sight of him tied to a post, gagged and bruised.

One side of his face had been smashed up, bleeding in some areas, and he was sporting a fine black eye. He lifted his head to her voice and his mouth curved up with the cloth stuffed inside. She ran and knelt before him, tugging at the ropes. When they wouldn't come undone, she reached down into her boot to see if the bolt would do the trick . . . And realised it was gone.

It was gone and there was no time to go get it.

No time left.

She pulled the cloth from his mouth, enabling his speech, and wiped some of the blood from his head with her sleeve.

"You're bleedin' too," he mumbled, gesturing her torn up arm that was still oozing with blood and probably infected to hell by now.

"Looks worse than it is," she brushed off, tugging at the ropes again in an attempt to free him. "Do ya have anything sharp on you?"

His head turned to the door and he grunted. "Over there . . . There's a- _grunt_ -piece of somethin'. Looks sharp enough to cut the rope."

Beth turned her head and saw the said object. She went over and grabbed it. It was a broken piece of wood, possibly from a cupboard or cabinet, but whatever it was, it would do.

She eased the sharp edge along the rope bindings, sawing away at the rough material until it eventually gave and broke apart. Morgan pulled forward his hands and rubbed his sore wrists, whilst she made work of the bindings at his ankles. Once unbound, she helped him to his feet, his body wobbling and unsteady, so she pulled his arm over her shoulder and let him lean against her for support. He gave her a grunt of thanks and they began making their way out, Beth pulling him along as quickly as she could.

"How'd ya get out?" he asked, nearly stumbling over some broken furniture as they moved.

"Doesn't matter right now, we just need to focus on getting out of here."

"Herd's here?"

"Yeah."

They hobbled along quickly through a series of doors, reluctantly trying to ignore the sound of growling and shuffling that were increasing in volume until they came into an area filled with various different supplies . . . _Their_ supplies.

"An' they gave _us_ shit for trying to steal their stuff." Morgan half laughed.

Beth stared at the array of guns and cans—some theirs, some not—on the shelves and unconsciously made a decision. A decision based on the sole purpose of keeping the others alive.

"Pack some bags," she said, "We're taking as much as we can."

Morgan blinked. "But weren't you just givin' Shepherd shit for doin' the same earlier?" he asked.

"This is different."

"How?"

Beth glanced at the questioning look on his face and his risen up brows and gave him a breathless look of skepticism.

"Morgan . . . Look around you. This place is gonna be trampled under a couple hundred walkers soon. If we don't take an' use these things . . . who will? What'll be their purpose?"

He shook his head, "I wasn't arguin', jus' wanted to know . . . That's all."

"Know what?"

". . . What you're willing to do to save these people."

Turning away from him, she began scooping up as many resources she could, stuffing them into a black bin bag. Morgan quickly joined her when the sounds of walker movement increased, and he too grabbed a bin bag of his own and began filling it. He also shoved smaller items into his huge coat pockets. Severely lacking a weapon, Beth noticed a sharp piece of broken glass on the floor beside where she was scouring. She hesitated for a second before picking it up and gripping its sharp edge hard, drawing blood from her palm at the contact.

Slinging the full bag of supplies over her shoulder, glass shard in the other hand, she turned and nodded for Morgan to follow. They lugged the bags down the corridors and out through the back where the others had fled.

Shepherd's woolly beanie poked out from around a corner, and the pair darted down the alley after it. The people from inside were flocked together in a tight huddle, scurrying down the street like panicked livestock. And if there was one thing Beth knew how to do—it was rounding up horses.

 _You can do it._

 _Think like Rick_ _. . ._

 _Believe._

She threw Morgan a look which he understood, and he took the bag of supplies from her and handed her the bit of sharp wood she'd used to cut him loose. She held it in her grip, other hand squeezing the glass shard, and then crawled up onto a brick wall so she was standing above the large group. She ran along the wall in the direction the group was running, fingers curled tightly around the two makeshift weapons she held.

If she could just prevent these people from getting harmed . . . If she could stop the bloodshed for only a _second_ _. . ._ If—

"Beth!"

Lilly's cry alerted her to the walker arms that had reached up and tried to grab her on the wall, and she managed to leap over them without being fazed.

The woman ran alongside the wall with Gregg's hand clasped right in hers. The boy's eyes were blown wide with terror, and his face was an unhealthy pale colour. Beth glanced forward at Dwight, who was leading the huddle to where the bus was parked . . . And closely followed by Edwards and Tanaka. He'd actually stayed true to his word and gotten them out! He'd _saved_ them.

He was trying to save _all_ these people.

Little Gregg looked up at Beth then, and her mouth tightened at the sheer fright visible on his features. And it was then that she decided that this little boy was not going to die.

She wasn't going to lose this one . . . Not this time . . .

She was going to get this kid on the bus.

As her attention was occupied with Gregg, she didn't notice the walker that leapt—yes _leapt—_ up over the wall and collided with her. They fell to the ground in a crumpled pile, and it pinned her to the ground and screeched in her face, lower jaw hanging and its left cheek skewered with a pitchfork in a remarkably grotesque manner. She pushed it by the shoulders and struggled under its towering frame, tilting her face as far away from the rapidly snapping jaws as she could.

There was something wrong with this walker as well. She could tell by how it had managed to sneak up on her so well, and by how quickly it had sent her to the ground. Walkers didn't move like that. They were slow, sluggish, _and stupid_. But this one . . . Oh, it was so much more than all those things.

So much more dangerous.

Just as its teeth were about to sink into her face, its head was torn apart by a mini bullet explosion, and it slumped down on her defeated.

Beth scrambled away and looked in the direction of the blast, and saw Lilly standing with her gun pointed at where the walker had fallen. The gunshot echoed out through the area, like a ringing bell, and Beth shook her head in dreadfulness.

An increase in sound and movement on the other side of the wall told her there was no time to be sitting around, so she pulled herself back up and picked up the shard of glass and sharp wood. She ran past Lilly and towards the front of the panicked crowd until she came to Dwight, Edwards, and Tanaka. The doctor's face brightened with relief at the sight of her, and she passed him an almost equally pleased look to see him, before getting Dwight's attention.

"Where's the bus?" she yelled over the snarling and screaming.

He fired a bolt at a walker upfront and pointed.

"Behind that block."

They ran out into the street and skidded on their heels at the sight of the approaching herd in the distance.

Dwight paled, and Beth would have given an _I told you_ so in any other situation, but now was hardly the time. She looked back at the spooked group and felt her chest tighten considerably at the wave of impending doom that washed over her. All those children, clinging to the adults' hands, lips quivering in despair, and Beth thought of how scared _she'd_ been running away from that burning farm, hand clasped tight in Lori's as they leaped into T-Dog's waiting car. And the feeling hit her that not all of these people were going to make it out of this shit-storm.

But that didn't mean she still couldn't try to prevent that from happening.

"Calm them down," she said to Dwight, and he glared.

"I don't take orders from you, blondie."

"They're not orders, just do it! Do you want them to _die_ _?!_ "

He clenched his teeth and balled his empty fist, before turning and gathering his friends' attention. He told them to remain calm and stay quiet, though it didn't really help ease their panic. Not that they could be blamed since they technically were in an almost lambs to the slaughter situation.

Beth thrust the glass shard into a walker's eye and stared out at the herd. If only there was a way to lead them away, and give the others some time to escape. If only . . .

Her eyes widened.

"Morgan!"

The man came jogging up to her at the calling and waited anxiously for what she had to say.

"What kind of things did you find in that gun store?"

He grinned and looked down at one of the bin bags he carried.

"Guns, dangerous shit, an' _parts_ _. . ._ Parts I reassembled into somethin' I think you'll like a hell of a lot right now."

"What?"

He opened the bag and let her look inside it . . . and she sucked in a breath.

"With this . . . We can send all those freaks there straight back to hell."

She stared at him wide-eyed, mouth hanging open, before quietly whispering . . .

"You made . . . a _bomb_?"

His grin widened and he flashed teeth.

"I made a _bomb_."

Despite the despair of the situation, she couldn't help but break out into a helpless laughter, as she pushed away from the urge to hug him.

Because he'd made a bomb.

"What's going on?" Lilly jogged up to them, Gregg still at her side, and panted heavily. "Why're we stopping?"

"We got an idea," Beth said, "But you gotta do what we tell you to for it to work."

"What is it?"

Dwight turned his head in their direction to listen, crossbow firing every now and then at walkers that came into range. "We ain't got all day, y'know!" he yelled aggressively.

Beth's resolve strengthened.

 _We're still here._

"You take everyone down to the bus and _don't_ get bitten, while I take this bomb here off to the other end of the town . . . and set it off. Whilst the walkers are drawn to the explosion, you drive."

"You can't do that on your own!"

"She won't," Morgan pulled out something else from the bag, "I'll be standin' somewhere on the way back on one of the roofs with this _flare gun,_ along with a couple of others. We'll draw the biters with flares, then blow them all the way to kingdom come."

 _Because even in a world of darkness and death like this one_ _. . ._

Beth looked at Morgan hesitantly, and he simply nodded.

 _Light still finds a way to shine through._

.

.

Shepherd volunteered to be one to fire the flares, along with Matty of all possible volunteers.

They were given a flare gun each and told to go to a certain rooftop designated to them. Morgan darted behind them with his weapons, but not before giving Beth the bomb and quickly telling her how to activate it. Since, _you know_ , time wasn't exactly on their side when there were walkers running their way.

"Fire your flare when you're ready, an' we'll start shootin' off our fireworks to get the dead movin'." he said.

Effy gave Beth a rapid bear hug, as well as Molly's pickaxe she'd taken during the escape, before running off after the others with Tanaka and Edwards, leaving Beth alone in the middle of a soon-to-be-swarmed street. Dwight shot down a few walkers before following the others, and gave her an odd look before leaving.

There was no goodwill in his one working eye, no compassion, but still, Beth found she wanted to prove she _could_ do it because of that look. Prove that she could still save people. So with the makeshift bomb tucked under one arm, she held the pickaxe in the other hand and set off running.

The fire in her veins was oddly vacant despite the adrenaline pumping, and then she started to think that the serum might have almost completely left her system by now.

Making a walker bite fatal once more.

A brief immortality wasn't meant to last forever, it seemed, hence the _brief_.

She ran past the buildings Morgan, Shepherd, and Matty each stood on the rooftops, and made her way towards the place in the town she knew would make the biggest, baddest, bang. The place that would blow sky-high, with a ring of fire dancing in its wake to obliterate anything within about a mile radius . . .

The main factory and power-plant.

If the bomb went off around all that radioactive waste, it would be a mushroom cloud so high it would the heavens.

It was funny, she thought, how many buildings she'd sent burning to the ground since the start of the apocalypse. _Three_ counting this next one.

 _Girl of smoke and fire_.

Once inside the factory grounds, she ducked and crawled through a gap in the metal fence and darted in towards the tall cylinder tower shaped from cement. She then pointed the flare gun up to the sky, and fired, a ball of amber sparks shooting up in a trail of orange starlight, and exploding with a shrill _bang!_ like a firework on the fourth of July.

No one, dead _or_ alive, could miss that kind of noise.

Morgan and the others saw and heard the signal, and they started setting off their flares too, the setting now feeling very much like a firework display . . . And it became a race against the clock.

It was _always_ a race against the clock.

Beth set the contraption down at the foot of one of the cylinder towers and followed the few instructions Morgan had given her, feeling an awful lot like a secret MI6. She cut the two black wires, then connected the blue to the socket inside. _Blip!_ and the thing flared to life, numbers flickering on the digital screen to signify exactly how long until the thing went sky-high.

 _08:00_ , and counting down.

 _Shit!_ This was no battle weapon, no, but it was a _bomb_ , and Beth didn't want to be around for the explosion or the radiation that would follow, so she abandoned the ticking time bomb right there and ran back the way she came after the soaring flares.

They had definitely caught the walkers' attention, for clusters had already made their way nearer, and threatened to block Beth's path. She sliced a few's heads off and rushed down the street to where Shepherd was firing from the rooftop. Beth fired a flare of her own to get the officer's attention, and Shepherd soon came rushing down and out onto the street.

"How long we got?"

"Just under eight minutes!"

" _Fuck_ , that's not long!"

They ran to where Matty was firing and did the same to get his attention, and he too joined them on the street. They then went for where Morgan was, but he was _already_ out on the street, tackling some walkers with a huge wooden cane he'd found.

Shepherd reached for her gun but Beth knocked her hand back down. Any further noise would attract them back this way, and that was the last thing they wanted. So instead, Matty lunged at one of the walkers with a machete and gauged its left temple out. They then ran back to where the others had run, unknowing if the bus was even still there or not.

Why would they wait, after all? They were strangers, who were presumed dangerous. They had no reason to wait, so why would they?

After all, her own friends and family had driven off without her.

 _We gotta go, Beth._

 _We gotta go._

She quickened her pace and practically flew down the back streets to where they'd last seen the massive huddle, and dropped the sharp piece of wood since it was becoming too heavy. The main priority right now was to get _out_ and avoid the blast. To not _die_. Which was easier said than done when you had under eight minutes on the clock and counting.

Eight minutes to ride or die . . . Eight minutes to make everything the group had taught her count . . . To prove she was a member of Rick Grimes's war unit.

 _I_ made _it._

Survivor.

"Run," she panted, still sprinting with the other three, "Keep running and don't stop. Run 'til you can't go any further. We have to get out of here, we can't die here, not after all we've been through. We have to _live_."

Eight minutes to fight to make it out alive, avoiding the nuclear blast and ring of radiation.

 _You're not a fighter._

Eight minutes to prove Gorman wrong.

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.


	20. Transcendence

**Author's Corner**

Holy bananas I am _so_ sorry that it took me this long to update, I've been busy with life and writing She Wolf. But since that fic is nearly over, I can dedicate more time to writing _this_ one, so I hope that makes you happy. This chapter is kind of a Christmas present to you all, since I haven't updated in a while, because I love you all so much (it's not even that good what am I saying). Wishing you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year. :*

Thank you so much for all the endless support and feedback you guys never fail to give! You rock.

Also, just a quick heads up. The intrusive POV shifts around a lot in this chapter. Not _majorly,_ but more than usual. I hope you enjoy the POV changes though, I sure did enjoy writing them, so let me know what you think?

 **Disclaimer:** Not mine.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Time suddenly had no measure, and Beth found that she couldn't distinguish a minute from a second as she and the other three ran down the town roads.

She thought, as they were running, that it would have been useful if one of them were wearing a watch, so she could tell exactly how much time was ticking until the town went sky-high. Edwards wore a watch, she knew for a fact, but he wasn't here now so that didn't exactly help. Her father had carried a watch, one he'd given to Glenn, and she remembered the glint of Rick's upon his wrist when he's reached out his hand and cupped the side of her head. But none of those people were here either, and the memory of that helped even less.

But upon thinking that, a desire to live so fiercely burned deep in her veins in the place of the flowing serum.

 _She's made her decision_ , Andrea had said.

 _She wants to live._

She _did_ want to. She wanted to very much.

.

.

The sounds of cries and panic rung in Steven Edwards's ears as he ran alongside the crowd of what he now knew to be Crawford survivors, and he pressed his lips together tightly. They finally came to a school bus that was parked on the next block, and the man in charge with the crossbow—Dwight—ran ahead to check it.

Tanaka and Effy rushed to his side, throwing him breathless glances he returned, and the girl handed him the large knife Beth had bestowed upon him in Atlanta.

 _Don't hesitate, aim for the head, and stab as hard as ya can. Don't pull it out until the thing stops moving._

That's what she'd said.

He swallowed, fingers gripping the handle tight as sweat rolled down his brow.

If it came to it . . . Could he do it? Could he take one of those creatures out? He'd seen what could happen if you didn't move fast enough, if you didn't swing hard enough. One foolish stumble and it could all be over. Could all vanish into oblivion, and everything he'd endured in Grady could have been for nothing.

The word _could_ had been used an awful lot in his internal monologue, he noticed then.

Could, not would.

It would appear that Beth's influence on him was stronger than he thought.

"Doc!" Tanaka called him, and he and Effy jogged after the rest to where they were piling onto the bus.

The doctor passed a lingering glance in the direction they'd come, before following.

He looked down at the watch on his wrist whilst waiting in the panicked queue, and tapped his foot. It had only been four minutes since Beth and the others had left, and two since the flares had been fired. He didn't know exactly when the bomb had started ticking, but he estimated the timer was about a minute down since the original time. Meaning time was running against them . . .

Wasn't it always?

One could never escape the endless ticking of clocks, even after the hospital being burned to the ground. All those clocks . . . One in basically every room . . . Ticking; loudly; irritably. He'd hated that about that place. He'd hated a lot of things, he realised, but that was very high up on the list of things he hated.

 _We're still breathing. Patients we brought here, they're still breathing. Outside these walls, alone, unprotected, they'd be dead. We'd be dead. We're not the ones who make it._

 _As bad as it gets, it's still better than down there._

No. It wasn't better. It _hadn't_ been better. Anything was better than that place, even a ground infested with flesh-devouring rotters. He now knew that surviving and living were two very different things, and he was never going to achieve the latter by being boarded up in that place.

Riley hadn't believed in that place. He probably shouldn't have either when its walls still weren't enough to protect his little girl. Walls were never enough; Beth was right about that. And she was also right about Grady, and he realised then, so was _he_.

He'd basically said it after all, even if he didn't realise the true meaning behind his words at the time.

 _It doesn't have a place anymore._

 _Art isn't about survival. It's about transcendence. Being more than animals. Rising above them._

Had he been talking about the piece of artwork then, and Grady . . . Or _himself_?

 _We can't do that anymore?_

 _I don't know._

But he _did_ know, at least he did now. You can still do it, be more than just survival, more than the animal, and rise above. _Transcend_. If there was one thing he had learned from being on the run with defiant and deluded Beth Greene . . . It was that.

After all . . .

She still sang.

.

.

The flares had stopped being fired, and the sky was hazy with light smoke and fading sparks. If not for the sounds of panicked people, and fast-approaching biters, the area would have been silent. Or perhaps not for the sound of the ticking time bomb several blocks away, that held the promise to blow them all to pieces. Dwight's efforts to keep them safe would have been immensely short lived then.

Gregg clutched Lilly Chambler's hand tightly in his seat on the bus and tried to make out as if he weren't trembling.

He hadn't said anything since before Beth had come bursting out of her confinement, and Lilly hadn't pushed him to.

She was used to children being reluctant to speak after experiencing trauma.

Lilly thought of her late daughter then, of how Brian—or Phillip, or whatever his name had been—had plunged the barrel of the gun against her temple and fired. Ruthlessly. Like a killer.

And then she'd taken a gun of her own and shot a bullet right between his eyes, and left him there to die in the field roaming with monsters.

She then proceeded to think of Tara, and how her sister had been so willing to lay down her life for her family and girlfriend, and how she hadn't fought to stop her hard enough. Tara had always been stubborn, strong-willed, and brash. She'd been the brave one, the one Lilly relied on for protection and moral support. But now . . . The weight of Tara's, Meghan's, and her father's lives couldn't have weighed heavier on Lilly's shoulders. Perhaps even _Brian's_ to some extent as well.

Sometimes you couldn't save everyone, no matter how badly you wanted to. But that didn't stop people from trying.

Dwight pushed the key in the ignition of the bus and tapped Thomas's shoulder, who was sitting in the driving seat behind the wheel. Everyone was on the bus and they were reared to go, until one of Dwight's former prisoners spoke out suddenly.

"Wait!" the girl with the long dark hair called, rising from her seat, "Not everyone's back yet."

Dwight shifted from the front and leaned against the back of a seat.

He regarded the girl— _Effy_ , Lilly had heard her be called by her comrades—with dark, degrading eyes.

"We ain't got time to wait for 'em, we gotta leave right now."

Her expression grew sheepish and her cheeks coloured at the attention being remotely on her. She pressed her lips together and squeezed the seat in front of her, and her one-armed companion looked up at her with encouraging eyes.

"But one of your own is out there with them . . ." she said softly, "Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

Mark looked at Dwight and gave him a hard look over the situation of his missing brother, and the man Dwight viewed as a brother himself.

Could they leave without Matty? If it came down to it, if he didn't make it back in time, could they drive off and just leave him there? Perhaps Dwight could, he'd made his fair share of tough decisions to keep them alive already, but Lilly sensed Beth's group would be less willing to leave behind her. Though the remaining three here were less outspoken and bold as the ones missing; they were _loyal_. And loyalty like that could not be extinguished so easily like a weak flame.

"We do what we need t'do," Dwight said.

Effy and the other two, Tanaka and the doctor, seemed pretty unhappy with that answer.

"You'd be willing to abandon them? Even though they put their lives before yours and ran the risk of losing them to do so?" Tanaka asked.

"It ain't a fuckin' easy decision, I know, but it's what's kept us alive this long!"

Effy frowned, "I don't wanna stay alive if those are the kind of choices we have to make."

"Then ya ain't cut out for this world."

The girl gasped lightly at the harshness of his words and lowered her head. Her expression made Lilly feel a pang of guilt, and she found herself wanting to set Dwight straight.

Surprisingly, she didn't have to, because the _doctor_ spoke up for once and stopped Dwight dead in his tracks.

"You're wrong,"

He said it so quietly she almost missed it, but she didn't. And neither did Dwight.

"What'you say?" he growled.

The group's eyes turned to the doctor whose name Lilly had not yet caught, who stared timidly into Dwight's eyes, lip twitching and glasses falling down his nose ever so slightly. But despite his withdrawn shyness, there was a glimmer of fire burning away in him. She could see it in his eyes, and his hard grip on his checked shirt.

He balanced a long knife on his lap, one he held very tight, and squeezed it for support.

"You're wrong," he repeated quietly.

 _Don't_ , Lilly warned mentally, as if he would hear her if she conjured the message hard enough. _Don't argue with him._

Dwight snorted, "An' why is that?"

"People like me . . . We _can_ make it in this new world. We can be cut out for it."

"But ya _ain't_."

"Maybe not yet, but we can still try . . . We can try to rise above . . . To transcend."

 _A_ _nd the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. —Philippians 4._

Lilly's family had always been pretty religious, their apartment adorning various holy artifacts; crosses, grails, the Virgin Mary . . . And in that moment, that quote from a Biblical passage stood out to her because of what the doctor had said.

Transcendence. Rising above. Being more than just survivors. Fighting for something more than just staying alive. For something real; something raw. Something _better_. That kind of idealism was something Lilly hadn't seen in survivors for a long time, a pitiful delusion that would get them killed, like every other person who'd believed and died for it. Positivity could be the greatest negative, and one couldn't afford to cloud one's judgement with times like this.

This was no time to be delusional.

.

.

The streets were beginning to fill with walkers, the rotting corpses staggering out of alleyways and snarling in the four's faces.

Beth slammed the pickaxe into several of their heads and darted over the carpet of bodies. Morgan, Shepherd, and Matty sprinted behind, taking out a few themselves and trying not to get bitten in the process. As this was happening, one of the odd mutated walkers leaped out from behind a cluster of normal ones and snapped near Beth's head with its decaying jaws. She thrust the pickaxe in its direction, but it evaded and made a lunge for her arm, so she slammed the heavy cast into its nose, crushing the front of its face. It screeched and jolted forward into her chest, sending her knocked back into Morgan. It was the second after its teeth tore the fabric of her shirt and was about to sink them into her stomach, when Matty stabbed his knife into its head. The creature jolted and spasmed for a while before collapsing onto her front, dead at last. Its outburst had drawn more ordinary walkers, and Morgan helped Beth to her feet quickly.

Before more runners—she decided to call them then—came . . . well, _running_ , they made for the block the bus supposedly was . . .

Only to find no sign of any such vehicle.

Matty seemed immensely shocked at the spectacle, or rather the lack of a spectacle, and stared, gaping. The walkers were close behind, and Shepherd threw a glass bottle from the ground at one's head.

"Where the hell is it?" Morgan yelled.

"I don't know!" Matty yelled back, "It was here, I swear!"

"Well it sure ain't now, so you got another plan that'll get us out'a this up your sleeve?"

His eyes widened and he nodded frantically.

"Yeah! There's a hatch that leads to the sewer system underground, just down this block! We can try and get down there and seal it off! So _they_ can't get down too,"

"Then let's do it instead of just talking!" Shepherd shouted, drawing her gun and firing, all worry of attracting more gone. They were practically already swarmed anyway.

Beth sliced a walker's head off and made a run after where Matty was leading, Morgan and Shepherd close behind. He led them down the street, which had walkers coming from both ends now, and stopped when they came to a heavy looking metal hatch in the middle of the road. He and Morgan leaned down and pulled the lid up, Shepherd firing in both directions, and Beth, having noticed a handful of ammo on the ground, scrambling for it and scooping the bullets up into their bag. The bullets were slippery, gold, and unusually hard to collect. That perhaps had something to do with Beth's shaky hands.

Finally, the hatch was opened, and Morgan shoved her down first, then Shepherd, then Matty. Eventually, he too crawled down and pulled the metal lid back over the hole in the ground, and it set in place with a loud metallic echo.

They were separated from the dead by a level of earth and tar.

Shepherd sagged and pressed her palms onto her knees, panting heavily and wiping sweat from beneath the beanie covering her brow, and Morgan and Matty heaved deep shallow breaths upon being safe from hungry walkers. But Beth knew there was no time to dilly-dally, even if they'd just narrowly escaped death and were on the brink of fainting from fatigue.

Fighting for life was a common occurrence now, and there was no time to gather one's bearings and rest.

Not when the clock was still ticking.

"Come on," she urged, head tilting to look down the gloomy sewer passage, "That way should take us out of town, but we gotta hurry. Never mind walkers, a _bomb_ won't just wait for us to get out of the ring of fire to safety. We gotta go!"

"Then let's get goin'." Morgan agreed.

They jogged down the filthy sewer, along the green river that was filled with waste, and held their arms over their mouths to try to muffle the intensive stench.

"What happens if the town blows and we're under here when it happens?" asked Matty as they were running.

"There's a _lot_ o' toxic waste down here," Morgan replied, "An explosion up there alone would send the ceiling crashing down on us, and with all the radioactive waste down here from the power plant . . . I'd say our chances of surviving would be pretty slim."

"Ya sure do know a whole lot about bombs and radioactive stuff, man."

Morgan shrugged, "I subbed a couple' times for Duane's classes. Just picked up a bit o' knowledge here an' there."

"A _bit_ of knowledge? You just threw together a working _timer bomb_." Shepherd joined in, the last two words of that sentence echoing down the damp halls due to her voice rising an octave or so.

Beth's mind was half in the conversation and half elsewhere, as she sprinted at the front. Their words weren't properly registering in her brain—or what was left of the shattered thing—and she tried so hard to focus on keeping her attention on running and getting out of this repulsive sewer system. She absolutely would not let anyone else or herself die in this explosion.

Not like this.

There were still things left she had to do, a whole lot of things as a matter of fact, and she'd be damned before _truly_ she went out without a proper fight.

 _It isn't over, this is it._

This is it, and you have to fight if you want to stay alive in this world. Have to _do_ something, run, believe, try . . . Anything you can to make sure you don't end up dead or worse — as one of those things. Fight to stay who you are, or rather, who you want to be.

 _You have a say in who you are_ , she'd told Daryl. _You can make that decision._ Whether or not people look at you and see a coward . . . Or they look and see a hero, someone worth admiring. _Believing_ in.

Beth knew she could be whatever she chose to be in this forsaken world where ash rained from the heavens and coated the people below with its dark charcoal. The decision was hers. But perhaps, really, there were times when the _old_ you came out to play. The person you tried _not_ to be and tried so hard to hide . . . Change.

The frightened little girl who hid behind her father and sister upon hearing the news of the mysterious outbreak, and screamed and wailed in the face of death and disaster. The Beth Greene that had wandered over to the corpse of her mother and knelt down beside it and cried, then had to be hauled away by strangers who maybe posed more of a threat than the monsters inside the barn.

 _I wanna go_.

Maggie had said she was selfish for wanting that, for wanting to end the misery and constant threat of danger. _Maggie_ hadn't wanted them to give up, _she'd_ wanted to fight. She had started trying to, adjusting to the new world. She'd started fighting to live because she didn't want anybody else to die.

 _I can't take another funeral_.

 _You can't_ avoid _it_.

Water and waste dropped down the walls of the sewer, and Beth's three companion's voices were now silenced in her mind. All she heard were montages of memory and talking, and belief. Of dismay, _her own_ , as she waited out what could have been her last days in that twisted, manipulative hospital. Like a princess locked away in a tower, waiting for a knight in armour to come rescue her. Only unlike every other fairy-tale she'd ever read . . . There was no prince, no magic, or rescue. No one to rush in and take you by the hand and lead you away from all the pain and misery.

No real heroes.

Beth had known the second Dawn asked for Noah that none of that was real. Justice . . . Righteousness . . . Honour . . . What is?

 _This is who you are and what this place is, until the end._

So she'd done the only thing she'd thought to do, in that dark hopeless moment, with all those clocks ticking tauntingly all around her . . .

She'd made a mistake.

A nearly fatal one, that still got the job done, although, thanks to Daryl.

 _Dawn is dead,_ that's what Edwards had said after she'd woken up for a second time in that cursed hospital. She was gone, and _properly_ gone as well. Shepherd had been worried about becoming like her, but she didn't have to worry about that anymore. Because Dawn was dead, the hospital was dead, and everything it had ever stood for was dead. All burned to ashes and put away for good.

More than gone.

.

.


	21. Boomtown

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Lilly watched the buildings pass by through the stained bus window, and watched them steadily change to greenery and open fields of the inland. Gregg was clutching to her side with his mouth sealed tight, and apart from the pungent hum of the engine and the occasional whimper from one of the four children . . . there was silence.

A silence Lilly had come to appreciate whenever they managed to get the tiniest sliver of quiet without having to run from the biters. But despite the tense peace it offered, there was something awfully upsetting about the silence. Something lonely.

It made her think of months holed up in that run-down apartment, waiting for the husband that deep down she knew would not be coming back. When Tara would leave to do some resources stocking, her father was laid up sick in bed, and Meghan . . . Poor, silent, little Meghan, who offered less companionship and risk than a brick wall, yet still managed to wind up chomped and shot before she could turn.

Pushing those thoughts away, she glanced up at Dwight, who was standing beside Thomas at the driver's seat and furrowed her brow in consternation.

The girl from before—Effy—despite her sheepish looks and attitude, was glaring daggers at his back, and her one-armed companion was fiddling with his arm stump uncomfortably. Lilly tilted her head back to look at the third member of Beth's party, the doctor, and stared at his distant expression and twitching lip.

He looked visibly distressed and was squeezing a large bulky bag pack he had raided from the stash to his chest. Whatever the pack contained was a mystery to Lilly, but she knew from the intensity of his hold, that is was something _very_ dear.

Finally, Mark spoke up.

"I still can't believe we left 'im there," he muttered to her from the seat behind, obviously referring to his brother whom they'd upped and driven off without.

"He might've got out," she proposed.

"He might've . . . If we hadn't driven off without him and basically thrown him in the grave to rot."

Gregg shivered and Lilly's expression fell.

She passed another glance at the doctor and gave the little boy's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"He might've found a way out," she said, "It's not impossible."

 _Walking out of a prison field infested with biters wasn't impossible._

Mark sighed. "Even if he does make it out'a there, I just can't him take knowin' that I left him to die. Can't take knowin' _myself_."

"That's not why you left him, you did it so all these other people could _live_. You did it for the greater good."

The doctor's head shot up at that sentence and he looked directly at her.

His eyes held high levels of alarm, and he regarded her like a spooked animal, and Lilly felt uncomfortable too because of his severe expression. For some reason . . . her wordplay had unsettled him. And she didn't know why. She might _never_ know why, and that unsettled her too.

.

.

Saying the sewer system was like a maze would be an understatement, because its tunnels extended the capacity of any standard maze Beth had ever known, and for a while, she could have sworn they were running in circles. Shepherd ensured that they made no same turn more than twice in a row to avoid going in circles, so they couldn't be really. But it sure as hell did feel like it.

Time had lost its meaning, and there was no possible way of distinguishing how much time has passed since the _beep!_ sounded to mark the eight minutes they had to get the hell out of the vicinity before they were burned to cinders.

Eventually, they came to a stretch of the sewer that looked to be growing lighter at the end, so they ran in that direction, trying to ignore the thuds and rumbles shaking from behind. The large pipe came to an end at an opening to harsh daylight, and Beth stopped just at the edge and looked down.

Seawater lay meters below, waves choppy and crashing against the rocks of the cliff to erupt into surges of thick, white foam that rose and splashed a few salty drops across Beth's cheeks.

" _Now_ what'd'we do!?" Matty panicked.

"We could try goin' back to see if there's any—"

Morgan's suggestion was cut short by a loud rumble and shake of the ceiling.

The four looked up at the shaking concrete and watched as tiny particles of dust and soot began to fall, followed by larger clumps as the noises increased. The ground shook, and every hair on Beth's skin prickled at the awful sensation filling the air. The dreadful feeling that something was _very_ wrong, and that they needed to _get out_.

"There's no time," she blurted, "We gotta jump."

Morgan and Matty regarded her with wide eyes, but Shepherd merely stared at her distantly, as if she were recalling some distant memory . . . Of rising flames, and swarming walkers, and falling hospital buildings.

 _We're gonna have to jump._

The image of old man Percy falling from the Grady building on his failed jump resurfaced, and Beth felt a pang of reluctance rise in her chest as it did.

Hesitating.

"We have to . . ." she breathed, and for a moment it felt like she was more so convincing _herself_.

Shepherd moved forward and stood beside her, the ground shaking with her every footstep. Morgan and Matty exchanged looks before joining them, and Beth stared down at the churning waves below.

Shepherd took her hand and squeezed it, and gave her a fixed look.

"I'm with you."

Beth swallowed and reached for Morgan's hand too, who in turn reached for Matty's, effectively joining them together in a compressed line. They stared down at the waves and felt the town above shaking, and the heat of the blast began to grow . . .

 _After you, little miss blondie._

So they jumped . . .

And Beth felt the wind on her face—biting and cold—as they fell . . .

And her eyelids slammed shut because of it.

When they hit the water, her hands were torn loose from Shepherd's and Morgan's, and she shot down through the seawater, ironically, like a bullet . . . Sinking downward into darker depths of salt . . .

The water was dark and murky, and Beth found herself unable to see properly as she fell into a kind of daze. The gash on her arm had re-opened and was leaking thick red clouds that circled her, and obscured any vision even more, giving it an aloof, dream-like quality where one experienced a total loss of sight . . .

 _Ain't nothin worth seein' out there anymore anyway._

Unconsciously, Beth opened her mouth to suck in pockets of oxygen . . . only to inhale a mouthful of seawater. This snapped her out of the semi-trance and she jolted in a kind of spasm, and bucked backward to hit the cliff behind her.

The rock scraped along her neck and shoulders, and a blow to the head sent her crappy vision slowly fading.

Her lungs burned, _screamed_ for air, and there was nothing she could do to answer their cry. Nothing but hope that like in every book and movie, someone would swim along and pull her ashore. But all she got was Gorman's smug grin and crude laughter ringing in her head.

 _You're not a fighter._

 _I can take care of myself._

Another laugh.

 _You can't, Bethy. You need your precious little posse to come along and rescue you. Or your man. Maybe if you'd gone and fucked him, he might'a had a reason to come save you. That's what you get for being so frigid._

Her fist collided with cliff and crushed her knuckles.

 _._ _. ._ _Screw you_ _. . ._ _!_

 _Things might have gone differently if you had._

A hand on her wrist.

 _Why can't ya be a good little girly? Like Joan an' Effy? Oh,_ Effy . . . _Pretty little Eff. She wasn't a fighter either, y'know? So good_ _. . ._ _So pretty_ _. . ._

She struggled and kicked, more water flooding into her lungs.

 _You're gonna lose here, Bethy. Y'are. You're gonna float away like wreckage._

She coughed another mouthful of air, and her back hit the cliff harder.

 _You're gonna die._

He almost didn't get to finish his last word, because Beth drifted into unconsciousness after too many strikes against the cliff . . . And let the current grab her feet and selfishly tug her down, to a bed at the pit of the ocean on which she could maybe finally rest, amongst seaweed and creatures of the water that didn't bite . . .

 _Underestimated_.

.

.

She was pulled out of the semi-dream-like haze, by a pressure pounding on her lungs, and the damp breath of another against her cheek.

". . . Beth . . . ! Good Lord, _Beth_!"

Her body jolted upwards and coughed out a stream of seawater and acid saliva, and her palms were pierced by tiny sharp stones. Once done spewing spit and water, she wiped her mouth and opened her eyes.

Her eyes were greeted by rocky sand, damp and sharp, and she was soaked to the bone. There was a hand on her shoulder, and she turned to squint at the owner through sore eyes and found it to be Morgan. He stared at her carefully with his dark sunken eyes, and she groaned at the sudden weight on her head.

"Hey, hey. You're all right." he said, "You're alright. Just look to have hit yer head and scraped yer back up a bit."

Slightly coming to her senses, she blinked and looked around for Shepherd and Matty, who were missing.

"Where's . . . ?" she croaked.

"Where's who? The other two? They're right here, Beth."

Her brow furrowed.

". . . What?"

"Shepherd an' Matty. They're right in front of you."

"No, they . . ."

Yes . . .

Yes, they were.

In the place of empty beach Beth had just scanned for them . . . there they were, kneeled at her sides with Morgan, like they'd always been there.

Shepherd put a hand on her thigh and smiled, and Matty stared at her oddly. And all Beth could do was blink, bewildered.

"I didn't . . . I didn't see them!" she cried, "I didn't—!"

"Calm down," Shepherd cut her off, "You hit your head that's still recovering from brain surgery, it's not unnatural for something like that to happen. It's a standard occurrence. Don't panic."

Beth frowned. "When'd you become a doctor?"

She just laughed.

"When you spend most of your time in the apocalypse locked up in a medical hospital, you tend to pick up on a few things."

Beth bit her bleeding lip, winced at the pain, and let Morgan haul her to her feet. She wiped the blood on her sleeve and sucked at the puncture wound, the flavour leaking onto her tongue and staining her tonsils with the taste of old copper. Her knuckled stung, probably broken from the punch to the rock, and her head screeched white noise.

The bandage covering her head had been ripped off by the tide, and Matty regarded the now visible view with wide, spellbound eyes.

"Woah. Is that . . . ?" he asked, gesturing to the scabbed up hole just beneath her hairline, that had gotten a good clean in the water, but stung like hell.

Talk about adding salt to the wound.

"Is that . . . a _bullet_ hole? That's pretty fucking cool. You survived a shot to the _head_! Like literally, right near the brain! That's insane. Does it hurt?"

She groaned slowly, the intensity of his gaze added on top of the physical pain making her feel uncomfortable, and she lifted a hand to cover the ugly mark.

Morgan noticed her squirming and reached down to rip off a part of his shirt so that the lower part of his body was exposed. He moved closer to her and gave her a questioning look, as if he were asking permission. She granted it with her eyes and took the piece of cloth. Turning her back to them momentarily, she wound the stretchy fabric around her head and tied it in a tight knot at the side of her head. It looked sort of silly, but it was better than having _that_ thing on show. She should have asked Shepherd to borrow her wool beanie, but it was too late now because that too had been carried away by the sea.

 _Selfish sea_ , she scowled. Luckily, it hadn't taken the pickaxe or all of their weapons, so they weren't entirely screwed.

"Shit. Would ya look at that," Morgan said, drawing her attention back to him.

His gaze was pointed across the bay and over the cliffs they'd jumped from . . . where a huge mushroom cloud of ash towered over the fallen buildings.

The cloud was enormous, big and angry, and for some reason reminded Beth of a face. An evil face, with snapping jaws and sunken eyes that were rotting into the bone. Like the face of one giant walker, gorging the town with its putrid teeth.

The setting was almost impossible to describe; a true portrait of absolute ruin. Beneath the huge cloud, through the layers of smoke and dust, laid crushed houses and stores, fire lapping at the with its flickering tongue. Debris fell over the edge of the cliff, rubble from houses near the edge crumbling to bits and falling into the water below with muddled splashes. The sewer pipe they'd jumped from was no more, collapsed in on itself and flowing black tar from the shattered roads and pavement. One particular house by the edge crumbled and toppled over the side, the whole establishment going down to be eaten by waves, turning the water brown and filled with sharp bits, turning the crashing waves to small, dirty tsunamis.

And the _smell_ _. . ._ Rancid, burning flesh; rotting.

The roasting of every undead that had walked or ran straight into that trap.

The blast was so intense they could feel the heat from all the way across the bay, and the smell of burning bodies reached them still. Shepherd and Matty brought their hands to cover their noses, Morgan crinkling his, and Beth just stared, unable to tear her gaze away from the destruction. She watched one considerably large flame rise and twirl like a twister caught on fire, and dance up to send the power plant towers crashing down. The inferno crackled and hissed, and Beth's heart thudded.

Her features settled into an expression of quiet ire, her brows drawn down and mouth pressed into a hard line. If she could see herself, she would see the dusty orange glow from the explosion lighting her face in a dangerous light—scars crisp, and bruises dark and swollen.

She looked _older_ , the image of the little girl who danced with ladybugs and sung to piano music melting away into something else. Something harder. Fierce. Bolder.

Defiant.

Girl of smoke and fire.

Alive.

So she lifted her arm and held it to the sky, the other three watching curiously, and uncurled her middle finger from the balled fist and pointed it at the gigantic mocking cloud. A tiny smile tugged at Shepherd's lips, and she stared at Beth incredulously . . . before she too rose her own hand and pointed her middle finger at the burning town, helpless grin in place. Morgan's brow creased in confusion before he too joined, and eventually Matty did as well, though he had no idea what the meaning of the gesture was.

A warm wind blew down from the cliff then, blowing onto their faces and sending tiny embers along the breeze like leaves. Beth closed her eyes and felt the hotness stroking her cheeks, burning the scars, touching the hole in her head through the cloth, and her ponytail was thrust back when a stronger wind blew past, pushing it over her shoulders and spraying out behind like blonde smoke.

Her lips parted to suck in the blazing heat, and she re-opened her eyes to narrow them. And then she walked away, the others following behind in a sweltering silence.

 _You have to put it away. You have to._

 _Or it_ kills _you._

.

.

What a time to run out of gas.

Lilly watched Dwight and Mark fiddling around with the open engine, cursing loudly when something broke or leaked oil on them, and she sighed quietly. She watched the growing mushroom cloud of smoke in the distance, eating the town they'd made their home for so long now. The concrete towers of the power plant falling like the twin towers in 2001, flames circling the tall grey bodies and pulling them down. The air was hot because of the heat of the blast, the atmosphere sweaty inside the bus, and Lilly wiped her upper lip with the back of her hand.

Gregg was holding something when she looked back at him, but he quickly tucked it back into his coat before she could see what it was. She gave him a questioning look, and before she could ask what it was he had . . . Someone cried out in distress.

"Jackson's bit!"

Before Lilly could spring over to the panicked huddle at the back of the bus, the doctor―whose name she now knew was Dr. Edwards―beat her to it. He practically _leaped_ up when the exclamation was still in the air and bounded over to the back.

Jackson was sitting with his arm clutched by Brenda, the bite mark on his hand deep and gushing blood all down his arm. Edwards took the arm, ignoring the frown he got from Jackson in response and studied it. He told everyone to clear out while he operated, and sent them all to the other side of the bus where the children had begun to cry.

Effy and Tanaka came to his aid, and Lilly watched them converse earnestly over what to do, before turning to look at Gregg firmly.

"Gregg?" she said, "Gregg, listen to me. I'm going to help those people over there, I'm going to help them save Jackson. I need you to go with the others and get off the bus so you're out of the way. Can you do that for me? Okay?"

Gregg nodded sheepishly and darted off to Terry, who lead everyone off the bus except her, Jackson, and the trio discussing what to do with him.

Shoving her gun back into its holster, she ran to the back and stood behind Effy.

"What can I do to help?" she asked.

Edwards turned briefly before digging out some medicinal matters from his pack.

"Just go out and stand with the rest," he said, "I'm a doctor, I've got this covered. Besides, I have help."

Lilly regarded him with irritated shock and put her foot down, something she wasn't used to doing before she'd lost her entire family that day outside the prison. Being tough was necessary now, a lot more than just every so often.

"You may have been a doctor before all this, but I was a _nurse_ , and when I say I can help, I can."

He turned back again and regarded her, the intensity of her firm statement making him fidget ever so slightly before he finally gave in.

"Fine, fine, come over here and give me a hand with steadying his arm."

"Why're you steadying my arm?" Jackson snapped.

"Because I'm going to cut it off."

Jackson freaked and thrashed in the seat, understandably really, and Lilly came and squeezed his knee.

"Jackson," she said, "Jackson, look at me. You're gonna be fine. The bite's on your hand, you don't need your hand, if he doesn't take it off soon, you'll die."

" _Don't need my hand_!?" he screeched.

"I'm doing just fine without mine," Tanaka remarked, gesturing to his arm stump, "He knows what he's doing, he's done this a million times before. You'll be fine."

"And what if I'm _not_ fine? What then!?"

Edwards pulled out a coil of metal wire and began unwinding it. "We don't think about what happens then," he answered, "We think about now, and what happens if we succeed."

Jackson didn't have a retort to that, so he just writhed in the bus seat uneasily, hand oozing blood and dripping onto the rotting cushioned fabric. Lilly gave his knee another encouraging squeeze and watched Edwards uncoiling the wire. She pushed her hair back behind her ears and exhaled, taking Jackson's other hand in her own and clasping it tightly.

"Dr. Edwards?" Effy asked delicately, "What should _we_ do?"

"Effy, I need you to not panic on me and hold these bandage wrappings ready for when his hand is off. And Tanaka, I need you to get a hold of some water."

"Dwight isn't going to just hand over to you some of our limited drinking water to pour on a wound he might not even recover from." Lilly said, "You're going to have to get water from the sea."

" _Salt_ water!?" Jackson yelped, "Are you kidding me!?"

"Saltwater will actually be better for sterilising. It'll hurt like hell at first but it'll be better in the long run. I _will_ need some normal still water to clean it up though."

Tanaka left with the mission of gathering the seawater, and Effy beginning her work at ripping up the bandage cloth into strips.

Edwards looked at Lilly.

"What's your name?"

"Lilly."

" _Lilly_ _. . ._ If you want to help me, try to get us some clean water. Not a lot, just some will suffice, if you want him to make it, that is. _Please_."

She blinked and looked at Jackson, who was staring at her with pleading eyes, and she nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, I can do that."

She got up and ran to a bag at the front, which she pulled out a blue flask from and then darted back. She handed it to Edwards, and he unscrewed the cap to find it half full with clean water inside.

"This . . . isn't yours, is it?" he muttered knowingly.

"Just use it sparingly and no one will know."

He looked up and met her gaze, and gave her the sincerest of expressions Lilly had seen in a long time.

"Thank you." he said.

And then he got to work.

.

.


	22. Faith is a power, faith is a force

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

"Do we have any water on us?"

"I take it ya haven't yet noticed the vast expanse of sea beside us?" Matty asked dryly, and Shepherd scowled and shook her head.

"I meant _drinking_ water, genius." she said, "Do we? My throat feels like it's made of sandpaper."

Morgan reached inside their pack that had luckily washed up on the shore and dug around for a bottle of any kind. Instead, he pulled out a handful of shotgun shells, and his expression lit up.

"Where'd _these_ come from?" he asked, holding the gold-shining bullets in the palm of his hand.

Beth turned her head to look back from the front and spoke up in response.

"I found 'em on the ground when you were tryin' to get that sewer hatch open. Scooped 'em up in case they came in useful."

"They're _extremely_ useful!" he replied, "Do you have any idea how rare these kind of bullets are now? I haven't come across even one in months."

Shepherd crossed her arms and rose a laughing brow. "Well I'm glad _you're_ happy, now do we have any water or not?"

She ignored Matty's smirking and waited as Morgan dug around deeper inside the bag, before pulling out a bottle of precious liquid and handing it to her. Beth turned, shifting her focus back on the cliffs and looking for a way up. When the others had taken a drink, Shepherd came jogging up to her and offered her the bottle.

"I'm good," she shook her head, smiling forcefully.

Shepherd gave her a knowing look.

"Beth,"

She looked away and balled her fists.

"Don't." she said quietly, but firmly, and Shepherd lowered the bottle in defeat.

"You don't have to pretend you're like iron," she said finally, "Not with us."

Beth glanced back at her with gentle, sad eyes, and smiled. She then gripped the handle of Molly's pickaxe, crumpled knuckles screaming at the action, and walked on along the bottom of the cliffs, head craned up and searching for a path up the rocky slope. Finally, a section of the cliff face emerged that looked like it could be climbed, remnants of what could have been a path snaking up to the road above. She called the others and they came bounding over.

"Is now a bad time to mention that I'm afraid of heights?" Matty asked.

"Need me t'hold your hand?" Morgan offered.

Before they were about to make the ascent, a noise from the shoreline caught their attention, and they all turned back in the direction of the sound.

A walker was buried waist-down in the sand by the water, waves coming in and lapping at it every now and then and spraying its decaying flesh with foam. Seaweed was growing from its mouth and eye-sockets, and each snarl it gave sounded like a strangled whistle. Its chest had collapsed in on itself from the gradual force of the water, and the torn up lungs and ribcage were visible, shining wet and sporting barnacles and closed sea anemones, shiny red glistening in the glow of distant flames. It reached out for them, bottom jaw hanging as it moaned, and fell forward onto its front.

Matty reached for his knife and stepped forward to take it out, but Beth put a hand on his arm and stopped him.

"You don't have to," she said, "Not with this one."

The walker managed to push itself back up and reach out again, before a wave knocked into its abdomen and sent it toppling over into the sand again, with a cry so strident it could make someone feel like their eardrums were bursting. But it was also remarkably sad to see it like this, despite how many ones Beth had seen in similar positions over the years.

"You forget these things were people sometimes . . . Don't you? It's not hard to by the way they look and how they try to kill you. But they were like us . . . Once. A long time ago. And that's really scary when ya think about it."

 _That could be us, one day._

Just one silly little mistake, and it could all be over. They could turn into one of these monsters they'd spent the worst part of their lives running from, all if they made but one small screw up.

 _We're all gonna die and you let this happen_ _. . ._ _For_ nothin _'._

 _That could be us_.

Turning away from the upsetting creature, she breathed a deep breath of air and stated up at the sky where seagulls were flying overhead. Birds soaring high in the sky, away and free, above all this.

 _They get it easy, they get to escape. And look at us, we're stuck here on the sands of the breaking planet, crying, but nobody answers_. _Because we don't have wings, and even if we did they might not let us fly. They don't let him fly._

 _You don't always need wings to fly._

 _It doesn't really matter either way since you can't even fly_ with _them._

"Know what is scary?" Matty asked, "Your closest friends who've stuck by you for years, defended you, had your back through this whole damn mess . . . _leavin'_ you."

"Maybe there was more to it?" Morgan suggested.

"Even if there was, it doesn't change the fact that they left me there to die. Their friend. Family, even. They just _left_ , with no intention of coming back."

Beth felt a twang in her heart and felt the words resonate with what was left in that raw meat of an organ.

 _That's what happens_ , she thought. _When the decision comes and it's either you or the majority_ _. . ._ _The answer will always be the majority. No matter how special you are. They'll always choose to save as many as they can over just you._

Maybe that was what happened back in Atlanta. Maybe she had become too much of a liability, and the situation called for her to be abandoned.

 _Left. They just left._

Whatever had made them, that's what had happened. Had they any intention of coming back? She couldn't possibly know. But the simple fact remained that they'd _left_ her there.

"What d'you do when something like that happens?"

 _What do you do?_ There were a lot of choices for what you could do in a situation like that. You could lie down on the floor and cry; try to find out what happened that would make them leave you; just end it all with a sharp object to the wrists, like a knife, or wood, or mirror . . .

Or.

 _Or_.

You could be angry.

You could use that anger, that burning rage, as fuel to keep you going. Feed the furnace. Use the seething anger to find them again and ask—no— _demand_ why they dared to leave you there in the dark trunk of a car right in the middle of a revelry of nightmare monsters.

How they thought they had the _right_.

 _What do you do when something like that happens?_

 _That up to you. Find them, cry, rage, crawl, die, anything. It's your choice, and no one has any right to take that away from you. You do whatever the hell you want to do._

Beth looked at Matty with burning irises and smiled. A crisp, harsh smile, and the skin that stretched around her lips when she did no longer felt like her own. The scar slashed on her cheekbone had widened in the water and been torn down against the rock, slashed down to the corner of her lip—a permanent menace of a smile.

"What do you do?" she echoed, "You hunt 'em down and you give them a piece of your mind."

You tell them: _You may be in charge, and you may be doing everything in your power to keep everyone safe_ _. . ._ _But I matter too. I matter, and you don't get to leave me out there to die again._

 _You shouldn't have done it in the first place._

"Tell them that _you_ matter just as much as everybody else does."

.

.

Shepherd had hurt herself. Not majorly, considering what they'd just been through, but more than she'd let on. Her left knee was busted, and whilst she could walk on it relatively fine, _climbing_ was quite another matter.

They managed to get about halfway up the cliff path, Morgan and Matty helping her up, but they were beginning to struggle. Beth was climbing behind the trio, ready to catch them if they stumbled. Though a scrawny little thing like her, battered and bones crushed, probably wouldn't be a lot of help if three fully grown adults came crashing down on top of her. But still, they made the best of it, because what else could they do?

It was about halfway up the cliff face, that they spotted a crevice in the rock, that led into a small but spacious cave. It was a little shabby and damp, but it would do, so they set Shepherd down on a flat rock to sit. Beth watched the two men testing her knee—poking, prodding, twisting tenderly, to search for any signs of major disfigurement.

Despite the normality of what someone would do if their companion's leg was hurt, the memory it rose made Beth feel sad, and she turned away towards the exit of the small cave.

"Where're you going?"

"Up to the top. I'm gonna see if any of the others are up there waitin'."

Matty's eyes dimmed. "And if they're not?"

She smiled that cruel, sad smile again, and shrugged her shoulders.

"Then this is no longer a first for me."

She put a foot on the lip of the entrance and hauled herself out, clinging to the rocks at the side of the ninety-degree slope tightly. She hooked the toe of her boot into an indentation and clambered up, arms scraping along the rock when she slipped, and skinning the elbows.

If this was a couple of years ago on a trip to the seaside, she would have cried. She would have cried her big blue eyes out, Daddy would've hugged her tight and bought an ice-cream to make it all better, and things would've been alright. Only this wasn't a few years ago, and she wasn't on a family trip to the seaside.

This was the end of the world, and all her family was gone.

 _Maybe we'll be all right._

 _Liar._

She grabbed another sharp rock and pulled herself up with the hand that's knuckles were crushed, body heavy and muscles burning with the ache of fatigue.

 _You_ _liar_. _You told me that and you were lying. You told me everything would be al_ _l_ _right; you told me that because that's what I told you. I told you to believe and look where it got me_.

A bullet in the brain and a trunk for a casket.

No flowers.

Only dead ones got the flowers and memorials, got the closure, and apparently the universe wasn't that nice to Beth. It favoured no one but for some reason, it had a particular disdain for her. The luck was all run out now, it seemed. Perhaps that was why it hated her, because she'd used up all its precious luck, because she'd abused the power of a wish.

Because the dream she'd had, had influenced another.

 _You told me we could stay there and you left me_.

The drop didn't look nearly so far when Beth looked down at it from the top, not nearly as high as she'd had to climb. Maybe that was the illusion of it all. The curse. Nothing achieved now ever felt like the effort it took to achieve it.

 _We made it._

She did.

She wandered along the road, right in the center, along the white dashed lines—something she'd always wanted to do but had never been able to because of the traffic. Not like that was a problem anymore. She walked in the center of the road and tried to pretend it was still dangerous. Dangerous in a normal way.

She walked for what might have been minutes, or hours, or days. She just walked until she ended up where she needed to be, wherever that was right now. It was starting to go dark, and the sun was beginning its leisurely descent behind the mountains in the West. Only that descent was growing more rapid with every passing day, autumn now on its way once again.

The last time she'd seen autumn was with just Daryl, on the lonely auburn road.

 _Maybe you don't have to leave that_.

A grey cardigan for the growing cold. A padded dark jacket to refuel that swelling leather smell. And leaves, crunching beneath boots. A cold that was kind of okay. Welcome, even. They'd survived one winter on the run. What was another? Especially for just two hungry mouths to feed as opposed to a dozen and so.

 _Maybe we should stick around here for a while_.

The warmth of a funeral parlour.

A welcome cold that brought welcome warmth.

 _It ma_ _y be nuts, bu_ _t . . ._

Terrible and beautiful things, some just both. The cold was coming and a walker laid out on a medical tray all cleaned up and dressed, and all Beth saw was sadness and beauty. A thin line between the two. Sad and beautiful. Like the two of them.

 _Maybe we'll be al_ _l_ _right._

There were too many maybes.

Beth wandered down the road that was bathed in both the heat of the setting sun and the burning nuclear town and sighed, feet grounding to a slow halt before she eventually slid down to her knees. She hadn't walked far from the cave in the cliffside, but it felt like she'd been walking for a long time now.

Walking to and from place to place before it eventually burned down and she basked in its falling ashes. Away from the farm to the prison, away from the prison to the funeral home, away from the funeral home to Grady (though that was against her will). But it didn't really matter where she went, because everywhere always burned in the end.

Perhaps that was the way it was supposed to be.

Perhaps, for this new world to be born, the old one had to burn first. Had to be put away. And every last person along with it.

Burn it all down.

She turned and looked at the sun crawling slowly down behind the mountain peaks and wanted to cry. _You get it so easy_ , she wanted to scream at that elusive ball of fire. _You get to go about your normal business every day, lightin' up the world for a set amount of hours, burnin', then you get to go away_.

 _You don't have to hang around to see the trail of fire you've left in your wake_.

And a fire was very much what Beth Greene had left in her wake.

Flames, ember, civilisations scorched to the ground. Destruction. Ruin. Burning.

She craned her head to look at the devastated remains of what used to be that little fishing town and watched the dusty cloud of smoke rising up into the growing blackness. Pollution, they'd worried about before the turn, fossil fuel waste clogging up the atmosphere and tearing holes in the ozone layer. They never worried about the fire.

Girl of smoke and fire. Arsonist. A fire that wouldn't go out.

Always fire.

She cradled Molly's pickaxe in her hands and let her head fall to rest on her shoulder.

"It's so hard to be brave," she whispered, "But it's so easy to _die_. You just lay down and accept it. The people left behind though? The ones who have to live with it? They have the hard part."

 _They have the putting it away._

The sky went wobbly for a moment, and Beth blinked the tears that were building away, squeezing the handle of the axe.

"I don't cry anymore," she chanted, "I don't cry. I don't cry. I don't."

 _I'm just glad I got to know 'em. All these people; all these smart, brave, wonderful,_ brilliant _people. I'm so glad I got to know them. To fight with them, to survive with them. To_ run _with them._

 _But that's not enough. Just that will never be enough_.

It may not have been the whole truth, but to sum it up—they'd left. They'd left and they hadn't come back.

 _Maybe we don't get to come back. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is all there ever was and was ever going to be._

Maybe.

But what was that she'd told Daryl, all those moons ago? What was it she'd snapped, shouted, screamed, _cried_ , and thrown in his face over and over again?

 _Have a little faith_.

He'd snorted at that. The thought of mere _faith_ being able to lift them up and whisk them away from all the misery; a fool's dream, and he would be right. Because that wasn't what having faith was about.

Faith didn't magically make everything better. It didn't pick you up and carry those who believed in it to a land of joy and prosperity, where everything was right, the grass was green, and people were happy. _No_. That wasn't what having faith was about. And whilst Daryl had started to understand just a little, he hadn't opened his eyes to truly see. If he had, he would understand how something as simple as _having faith_ had failed to save her daddy. Why the God he loved so strongly had abandoned him in his time of need and left him to die.

See, the faith was never really about the Lord himself at all. He was what had inspired it, yes, but that wasn't what it was for.

It was like a funeral was. For the others. The ones left behind. The ones left in the dust on the path the blessed one had walked, who followed and wished. They put their faith in the thing they were following and it gave them the strength to follow it. Because that was what faith did.

It gave you power.

Raw, fierce _power_ , that burned in your bones and made you believe in what it was you were seeking. And it gave you the willpower to seek after it.

Beth had managed to teach Daryl as much as she could about the subject, but she couldn't properly teach it if she didn't understand completely _herself_. If she, who always spoke of believing and hoping and dreaming, was losing that sense of bright naïveté she had burned in Daryl Dixon's presence like a blaze. Inspiring him. Giving _him_ a power.

She'd given that power and lost hers in return.

 _So you do think there are still good people around._

Of course, he did. He believed in that because it was her who'd taught him to, and if she couldn't even bring _herself_ to believe in that anymore . . . Then maybe she really was just a lost cause after all. Just another broken piece of clockwork.

Another dead girl after all.

But the universe had a habit of saving the dead, and that was what it did. It opened its arms and beckoned, the voice chiming in her temples, right where the bullet had torn through. Whispering as the sun completely vanished behind the jagged mountaintops . . .

 _You don't get to give up just yet._

 _Not yet._

She may have been strong, but she wasn't the one who made calls like that around here. No one had the right to make a call like that. Perhaps not even God.

". . . Beth?"

She lifted her head carefully, still knelt in the middle of the road like roadkill, eyes wet with unshed tears and body covered in scrapes and scars. And in the final leg of the twilight, she made out two shadowy silhouettes just down the road, standing still and silent. Until they spoke up again, and Beth knew exactly who they were.

Tanaka and Mark.

They'd left, and now they'd come back.

Tanaka called her name again from down the road, his face bathed in the deepening dusk and distant orange flames, and Beth clumsily pulled herself up from the sorry pile of sitting bones she'd been.

They'd left and they'd come back.

"Beth . . . ? Are you all right?"

Tears wobbled at the edge of her eyes but still refused to fall, and she clenched her teeth to hold in the rising sobs. And Molly's pickaxe was clutched tightly in her palm and trembling at her side along with her legs, and in that moment she wanted to _sing_.

Because they'd come _back_.

Tanaka seemed pretty alarmed that she wasn't responding to his calls and instead was just standing there gawking. He looked at Mark with confusion plain on his features, easily distinguishable even in the low light, and Beth smiled. And this smile was hardly the sinister one from before. _Oh no_.

This one was so much brighter. So much more lit up with hope.

And faith.

 _Because they'd come back_.

Before she could change her mind, she slid the axe back into her waistband and bounded over to the two down the road, strong legs sprinting with purpose unlike they had in a while, and grin nearly tearing her face in two. The thick clumps of hair that had fallen from her hair tie swished and bounced around her neck with every leap, and the chunky braid in the ponytail danced along with her graceful movements—gold and powerful. And Tanaka nearly fell over when she finally reached him, and threw arms around him, clinging to his neck and tugging him to lean down. He was stiff with surprise at first, this level of contact never being shared between the two of them before, but he eventually slid his one arm around her waist and hugged her back. Mark watched the spectacle with a bewildered smile and rubbed the back of his head.

Beth stifled what she thought was a sob, but was actually a laugh, as she hugged the officer tightly.

Because Tanaka wasn't Gorman.

He was a cop, he'd lived in Grady for the start of the turn, followed Dawn . . . But he wasn't like _them_.

None of them were.

 _This is who you are until the end._

Tanaka, Shepherd, Effy, Edwards . . . They were different. They were alive, fighting, trying. They could change. They were still here because they'd listened to her, and they'd started to see that faith she had shown Daryl. Started to have it. Dared to dream, to hope.

 _Because if you don't have hope, then what's the point of livin'?_

 _What indeed,_ _d_ _addy. What_ is _the point?_

Faith turns to hope, and hope breeds a magic that works miracles. And as impossible as that sounded . . . It was true.

She knew it was now.

.

.


	23. Blood is all I taste

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Tanaka went to fetch the three hiding in the cliff side crevice, along with some seawater for reasons Beth didn't know, whilst she and Mark returned back to where the bus has apparently broken down.

Surprised that the man hadn't opted to go to his brother in Tanaka's place, Beth kept passing Mark quick, discrete glances as they walked, hoping that he wouldn't notice.

He was a lot more perceptive than she thought.

"What's with the looks, kiddo?"

She cringed at the _kiddo_. She'd hated it the first time he called her it. It stung. It made her feel young and weak. _Powerless_.

She hated being underestimated.

"Nothin'."

"I know _nothin'_ and that ain't it, so tell me what's bothering you already."

She scowled and shifted her gaze forward.

"I was just wondering why you aren't the one going down there instead of Tanaka. With Matty bein' your brother an' all."

He went quiet then and didn't respond. Beth peeked across at him through streams of blonde tendrils and saw the conflict stirring in his eyes and the creases around his mouth sharpening.

She appeared to have touched a nerve.

"I figured he might not wanna see me for a while," he answered finally, ". . . After what I did."

 _They just left._

"Still. He's your brother. You should at least try to make some kind of an effort. You can't back out like that just 'cause you feel bad about what you did."

"I don't expect some little girl to understand how complex a relationship between brothers is. Gotta have a sibling to get it."

"I _do_ have a sibling. A sister."

His brow loosened. ". . . Is she that girl with Tanaka and the doctor?" he asked after a moment of awkward silence.

Beth bit her lip.

"No . . . My sister isn't with us."

"Where is she?"

The hostility and aggression had toned down in his voice and he was speaking relatively normally now, almost sympathetically actually, though Beth found herself oddly disgusted by such a gesture instead of feeling appreciative.

"She's gone," she answered, "I lost her, or she lost _me_ _. . ._ About a year ago actually, an' I don't even know if she's alive or not . . ."

 _They could'a made it._

"But I'm trying to find her. Her and everyone else I lost too."

She wasn't quite sure why she was telling him all this, but she just couldn't _stop_ talking about it. Once she'd started, she found she simply couldn't stop, and everything about what happened that awful summer came gushing out pathetically.

Like a story. And whilst some stories are happy, some are sad, and it's never clear which is which until the end.

You can only hope the ending won't be too sad when it rolls around in time.

 _I lost them, they thought I was dead, then I_ was _dead, and then I lost them again._

 _Maggie_ _. . ._ _I never saw her again after that day. Not even in the hallway with Rick and the others. She's gone and I might never see her again, and then he'd be right._

Daryl was right.

She never did see her after the prison fell, and maybe she never would.

But just because Maggie might've given up on her, didn't mean _she_ had to as well.

 _Have a little faith, Bethy. Have some faith in your sister._

If faith was good for anything, it was for believing in things. In siblings. And Mark didn't seem to get that, even though _his_ sibling was only a few short yards away. What Beth would give for that luxury, to be able to be in the same living quarters as Maggie again, and hear her loud yells, her bossiness, and hold her hand. They could sit down at a table and lace their fingers together around a candle, and they could pray. Just like they used to, only without Daddy there too this time. Or instead of praying, they could sit and play with Judith, Maggie tipping the bottle up and into the baby's mouth, with Beth directing her how to go about it. Talking, laughing, singing.

Anything.

 _Of all the money that e'er I had,_

 _I've spent it in good company._

Good company.

You only know how good the company is when you don't have it anymore, and thinking about the true greatness of _Maggie's_ company, Beth really let it soak in how much she missed her.

And it hurt.

The bittersweet quality to their parting—the bitterness of the separation, and the sweet hope that someday, soon perhaps . . . They would be reunited once again. That something good might happen.

Finally.

 _Good night and joy be with you all._

 _All the joy in the world, Maggie._

"I hope you find her," Mark said finally, not meeting her gaze.

"Yeah. Me too."

.

.

Edwards wiped the mingled sweat and blood from his brow and heaved a breathless sigh as he sat back from the completed job. Jackson sat slumped back on the seat asleep, exhausted and more than a little traumatised over having his hand cut off. He was okay though, stump bound with bandages and not looking like it could grow infected, as long as they kept it maintained.

Tanaka had not yet returned with any seawater, so he'd had to make use with the water from Lilly, which had been fine anyway really. She was sitting on the seat beside the sleeping Jackson, wiping a dampened cloth across his clammy brow. Effy had been sent to check on the little boy she looked after, whilst Lilly remained caring for Jackson.

Frankly, her level of experience had surprised him, as well as her ability to keep a level head in a situation like this. She hadn't been lying when she'd said she was a nurse.

She caught him staring and looked down at him. Her eyes unnerved him and he looked away.

"What were you a doctor of before?" she asked.

"Oh. Just this and that . . ." he mumbled, "Standard medical . . . things."

She quirked a brow.

" _Things_?"

She chuckled when he gave a shrug and went back to wiping Jackson's head, eyes focused and lips scrunching up in that concentration. Edwards threw the bloody wire and packed the sedatives and painkillers away. He kept passing quick glances back up as he did and reached up to readjust his glasses to push them back up his nose.

"What about you?" he asked quietly.

"What did I specialise in? Apart from just 'things'?"

He nodded.

"I studied oncology before. Worked as a nurse. Then all this happened, and my dad got terminal cancer."

"He still around?" Edwards asked, remembering the cluster of elderly folk in the group, any of which could be said father.

". . . I think you can probably guess the answer to that. He's gone, just like the rest of my family."

He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

". . . I'm sorry."

"You don't have to be sorry," she said, "It's not your fault they're dead, it's no one's fault but mine."

"It's not your fault either."

"But it is." She stopped wiping Jackson's head and looked straight at him, features held together and mouth pressed into a hard, somber line. Edwards squirmed under her fierce gaze.

"My daughter is dead because I wasn't there protecting her well enough like I said I would. Meghan _died_ because I wasn't fast enough getting to her. That's _my_ fault."

". . . Same with my daughter."

Her expression softened ever so slightly then, and her lips parted.

"You had a daughter?"

He nodded. "Yeah . . . Her name was Riley . . . She was fourteen when she died. Fourteen years old . . . Too young. Too gentle."

"I'm sorry too."

"It's not _your_ fault."

"Let me guess, it's yours?" she asked solemnly, "What happened? If you don't mind my asking, of course."

He shrugged and gave a helpless smile.

"I wasn't fast enough."

She leaned her head to the side and chewed on the inside of her lip, fingers strumming the damp cloth on her lap.

"You never can be in this world, huh?"

"Not if you think like that."

She crossed her legs and sat back to regard him, eyes curious. She watched him with the intensity of a hawk watching a rabbit, and he very much felt like one in that moment.

"This optimism of yours . . ." she started, "Where does it come from? This solidified belief that things are gonna be all right. What makes you think like that? I haven't seen a lot of things now that'd make a person think so confidently."

 _We can make it in this new world. We can be cut out for it. We can transcend._

"You have a bit of that optimism yourself," he remarked, " _He might have made it out_ _. . ._ Remember?"

She seemed surprised by that.

"You heard that?"

"I'm quiet, but I'm a pretty observant guy."

She nodded, "I see that now. I'd better watch out around you then, since we might have to work together a lot more in the future."

"We might?"

"Well if those three from your group don't come back, what are you ones left behind gonna do? Split off and fend for yourselves? Are you that kind of group?"

"I doubt Dwight would be very . . . _welcoming_ to any new additions to this already big group."

"I'm a pretty persuasive woman."

She chuckled at his face again.

"I mean, I don't think he'd be opposed to someone as rare as a doctor tagging along," she said, "I'm surprised he isn't begging you to come along actually, but begging has never really been his style."

"I'd have thought he had enough with just you."

"Maybe, but everybody knows two medical prodigies are better than one, especially since they're really hard to come by at the end of the world."

His lips twitched and he looked down at his hands.

". . . I'll see what Beth has to say when she gets back."

"Gotta confront the one in charge first, I get it. I see you're pretty confident they're coming back."

 _The one in charge_.

"I just don't think we should give up on them until we know for sure they're not coming back. Because if you don't know for certain . . . then there's still a chance."

 _There was a chance. A chance for all of them. A chance at something greater than just survival._

 _Believe. Believe in her._

"If they are, they sure won't be happy with us for ditching them; that, I'm not proud of, I admit. But if _you_ think they're alive . . . Then I guess I'll have to take your word for it, Doc."

"Don't call me that . . . Just . . . Steven will do."

"I don't think I've heard you be called _that_ before. Edwards, I've heard plenty."

He shrugged, "A name's just a name."

She nodded.

"I guess it is after all . . . _Steven_."

.

.

Beth followed Mark down the windy coast road until the stationary bus finally came into view. The dark of the early night painted the yellow of the vehicle in a dark mustard hue, and a cluster of figures could still be picked out around it.

"There it is," Mark muttered.

A figure pushed past the rest and brightened at the sight of the pair.

It was Effy.

"Beth!"

She ran towards them with the little boy from before's hand clasped in hers and stopped just before them. She released Gregg's hand and hugged Beth, an occurrence that was becoming more common as of late, and Beth returned the gesture, a hand coming up to cup the back of her brown curtain of hair.

"You're back!" she cried when they pulled apart, "I knew you'd come back. You always do."

"I'm back," Beth said, "And all thanks to Tanaka and Mark. Tanaka went back to fetch the rest of them."

"You're _all_ alive! I knew it! I said you would be! Even after we had the audacity to leave you there like that . . . I tried to get them to stay but they wouldn't listen! I tried, I really did, I swear! I—"

"Eff, calm down or you're gonna get an asthma attack," Beth held her by the shoulders and tried to stop her jumping, "Where's Edwards? Is he okay?"

Effy stopped jumping on the spot and nodded "He's on the bus with Lilly. Somebody got bitten so we had to cut his hand off, but he's fine now."

"The infection hadn't already spread?" Beth asked.

"Apparently we can't be completely sure, but things are running smoothly so far. We just have to watch out for fevers and anything to suggest his condition worsening."

Mark nodded mechanically, "That's good . . . That's good then."

Beth felt Gregg's eyes on her and turned down to meet them, the little boy staring up at her with a fascinated expression. His lips were still sealed shut and he didn't appear to have any intention of opening them, but as Effy began to lead Mark away, he didn't follow.

He just stood there, rooted to the spot, staring up at Beth with those big, intent eyes. She didn't know what to make of it, until he reached inside his little jacket . . . and pulled something out . . .

It was the bolt.

The bolt she thought she'd lost from before, green-white sails and all.

Her hands automatically lifted to her face, where they traced her lips slowly, and all she could do was just stare. State down at the little boy holding the object that served as the closest physical thing as a reminder of those she was trying to find. Something she'd thought was gone, but wasn't gone at all.

She lowered to a crouch and looked him right in the eye.

"You picked this up for me?"

He nodded.

"And kept it all this time?"

Another nod.

". . . Why?"

She wasn't expecting an answer, and he didn't give her one, but at the time she really, _really_ wanted one.

Why did he do it? Why did he pick up an item that was apparently precious to a total stranger? Why did he feel the need to hold onto it before he could return it to its rightful owner?

What made him think she _deserved_ it?

She took the bolt from him carefully, holding it in between her fingers and rolling it before she squeezed it tightly.

She smiled.

" _Thank_ you,"

Spots of pink blossomed in his cheeks and he looked down at the ground, mouth still sealed firmly shut. Her smile widened and she looked down at the bolt again, before tucking it back safely into its rightful place in her boot. She then stood and reached out her hand for him to take, and he stared at it for a while dumbly. Eventually, he placed his own small hand into hers and she clasped his little fingers. And they walked back in the direction of the bus, darkness growing and a cool salty breeze blowing in from the sea, that caught the ends of their hair and tugged it like fingers, making it dance in the wind. Like fire caught on the singing breeze, dancing endless twirls of vivid light.

They walked along the edge in the dark and they didn't fall over it.

.

.

Later, Tanaka had returned with the trio and a flask of seawater, but Edwards no longer required it. They held onto it though, in case it was needed again in future.

Beth sat by the window on the bus beside Effy, knees pulled up to her chest and her chin tucked on top of them. Everyone had come on the vehicle to sleep, all snuggled up on the seats in huddles, no blankets needed because of the lingering heat from the explosion. Mark was outside keeping watch with Matty, the two sat on a box conversing—probably discussing the previous events of the day and how he had upped and left his own _brother_ —and Beth could see them through the misty window. Mark's shoulders were slumped with shame, and Matty was twisting his fingers tightly in his lap.

Beth was struggling to sleep, Effy snuggled against her side with her head rested on her shoulder, providing a sweltering source of warmth that Beth really could do _without_ in that moment, but that wasn't the source of why she couldn't relax.

She had the bolt out and was running it in her hands, her eyes studying it in the dark. Stupidly, she pushed her finger too far into the point and drew blood. A thick bead of red oozed from the pinprick like a cherry, and she lifted the fingertip to suck. Blood was all she tasted now, permanently dyed inside her tonsils, everything musky and copper tinted.

It was always blood.

Always blood, and red, and screams.

Another reason she didn't want to sleep was because of the dreams. The dreams that chased her in the few short hours she managed to close her eyes, and plagued her memory with evil and taint.

Fear in the form of monsters, chasing and crawling beneath her eyelids. _Gutting_.

You could fight the monsters off in the daytime, but the ones that hid under the blankets with you were another matter. The only difference was that the ones in the dreams couldn't kill you. At least not physically. Not enough sleep could result in poor reaction times and sluggish behaviour, which did result in death in the real world. And dying was no longer an option anymore.

So she closed her eyes, ignored the heat and the clamminess of Effy's shoulder pressed against hers, and dared the dreams to send out their demons to chase her. Because all they could do, after all, was just chase. And the chasers had to be quick if they wanted to catch _her_.

.

.

The fire was still burning in the distance when the group awoke, the sun rising on the ocean's horizon and casting pink light out over the cliffs.

Beth opened her eyes, surprised to find the dreams had been nowhere near as bad as she'd expected, and saw the fading mushroom cloud through the window. They should probably get moving soon if they wanted to avoid any side effects of radiation. She sat up and stretched her arms and legs, a still sleeping Effy falling lazily onto her lap in the process.

She'd been crying out in her sleep, though she'd always stopped just before Beth could wake her.

Gorman's name, she'd been sobbing pathetically, thrashing against Beth and whimpering like a beaten puppy.

The prick lived on in the form of dreams and hallucinations apparently.

Beth wiped the sleep from her eyes and shook Effy, pulling her out of troubled dreams so that her eyelids fluttered open and she blinked up at her with glassy green eyes.

"Oh sorry," she murmured, realising her position, and scrambled up. She yawned and rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand, pushing her thick brown waves over her shoulder and groaning.

"It's hot in here." she muttered, fanning a hand over her face, and Beth nodded in agreement.

"Even hotter when you've got someone laid out across your lap."

She grinned guiltily and flushed.

"I was always the hugger at sleepovers. You'd think I would've gotten better reaching twenty."

It was easy to forget that Effy was older than her, and Beth was often surprised whenever she remembered. Effy held a pocketful of innocence and cheer, despite being an energetic city girl, and years of being tucked relatively safely away in Grady has shielded her from the horrors of the turn. The horrors that had shaped Beth into the girl-forced-woman she was now.

Only Effy hadn't completely escaped true horror, because _Gorman_ had been in there with her. Gorman, the sick, rapist, prickish, biggest piece of shit that drew rare swear words from Beth for his description. He'd taken that innocence and dignity away from Effy, and likely every other young girl in the hospital, and nearly Beth herself too.

But she had been lucky. She was always lucky. Or maybe she was just the first to truly fight back, with hostile intent.

With the will to _kill_.

 _She should've been mine._

She wasn't, and by trying to take her . . . he'd gotten himself done in just like he deserved.

He was the first living, breathing person Beth had ever killed, and that was scary enough on its own.

But that wasn't the scariest part. It was the fact that he was the first person she had _wanted_ to kill, and actually gone ahead with killing. Edwards had tried to protect her from him, practically said he would let him die when he got the chance. But Edwards of all people couldn't fight her battles for her, nor could he steal the disturbing satisfaction Beth felt from letting Joan sink her teeth into his neck and rip out his arteries, blood pumping out onto her jaws and painting the artificial floor red.

She didn't regret killing many she'd killed. Gorman, O'Donnell, Bello . . . But if there was one person she had physically enjoyed killing, as awful as it sounded . . .

It was Gorman.

Effy climbed out of the seat and looked down at Beth for her to follow, and she copied the action and followed her down the middle of the vehicle and down the steps outside.

Getting off the oven of a bus was one of the greatest feelings she'd felt in a long time, and the sea breeze that blew through the area felt like a blessing. She stripped out of the long sleeved plaid shirt to just her white vest, and tied it in a knot around her middle, sighing as the cool breeze caressed her now bare arms and shoulders. The cast on her right wrist was awfully sweaty though, and she desperately wished she could take it off, but Edwards had told her: _another week or two_ , as he'd stitched up the wider gash on her face. _Wouldn't want a permanently crippled wrist, would you?_

She wiped sweat from under the strip of fresh bandage tied around her head and turned to stare at the faint smoke cloud back along the cliffs. The dust was settling, and every breath tasted slightly more like ash than the other.

They needed to get moving soon.

Dwight came down the bus steps and out onto the road. He had his crossbow strapped across his shoulder, arms on show due to the artificial heat, and in that moment it pained Beth just how Daryl-like he looked. The biggest difference was the tattoos and hideous burn on his face, and all the other personality traits that proved he was an absolute asshole.

He saw her standing there, pickaxe in hand, and walked over. He was a lot bigger than her, she noticed then, muscled and towering over her in height, and a shadow seemed to fall on her as he stared down at her blazing expression.

His exposed eyeball looked her up and down, the scabbed flesh around it cracking as it did, and his brow creased.

"Yer alive then," he said, "Thought I might'a been dreamin' or somethin' last night. Or havin' a nightmare. But here you are."

"In the flesh."

"Ya don't fuckin' say."

She crossed her arms and repressed the frown threatening to appear across her features from looking at him for so long.

"You left us yesterday," she said. "You drove away and left us to die."

He scowled. "I didn't owe you anythin'."

"You did Matty."

His healthy eye glinted with building fury.

"Matty knows I did what I did t'keep everyone else safe. He knows the code."

"Does this code involve leaving your friend behind to burn in an explosion?"

"Look here, blondie . . ." He leaned in real close to her face and she held in a shudder at the close proximity. The breaths that hit her face tasted like smoke and alcohol. Burning. "I don't know what kind o' heart-warmin', sappy shit you're used to, but that ain't how the world works now. It ain't how you stay alive. You wanna wait around for a couple of people in a crisis when it puts dozens more at risk? Good for you. But a code like that . . . _That's_ what gets ya killed."

"Then why am I still alive?"

"I don't know, but whatever the reason is, it ain't gonna keep everyone else safe too. So you can suck it up an' leave the hard decisions to the one in charge. That's what bein' a leader's about. Ya gotta make tough calls sometimes."

She took a step back and shook her head.

"Do these people even know what kind of a man they're following?"

"They know I can keep them alive. Have been since the start. When the dead started walkin' and Crawford kicked us out 'cause of the kids and the elderly, I stepped up and took care of them all. I have that responsibility, and the calls I make ain't easy, but they're what's best."

 _How come Rick did a better job than you could ever hope to then?_

"Doing what's best isn't always what's right."

"I'd rather do what's wrong and stay alive than do what's right an' wind up dead."

"That's the motto of a coward right there."

"You'd better shut your mouth before I show you just how much of a coward I ain't by pushin' you off this cliff."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I really would."

She seethed.

He would as well.

She scoffed and looked away, feeling a lot like a bratty child, and unfolded her arms. She felt the heat rising to her cheeks, and anger bubbling in her chest, but she held it in. Now wasn't the time to be shouting enraged insults over moral conflict, no matter how wrong she thought he was. Some people just wouldn't open their eyes and see, and the biggest difference by _far_ between Daryl and Dwight was that the latter simply refused to try.

His mistake if he got himself killed for no reason, in an unfair and unjust way. It wasn't like she really cared anyway.

Edwards came out of the bus then, diverting her attention from the infuriating individual before her, and he came to stand with her. Dwight gave him a sharp look before stalking off to where Mark and Matty were stood.

Effy finally released her giggle and elbowed Beth.

"That was intense," she whispered, and Edwards stared at them with confusion.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Nothin'." Beth frowned.

He didn't look so convinced, and Effy wouldn't stop giggling under her breath.

"Just make sure you throw _him_ off the cliff first," she said before erupting into a louder fit of laughs, and she leaned over and held her stomach tightly.

 _Oh_ _,_ _I will_ , Beth thought darkly.

She hadn't been this pissed off in a long time.

Not for a _very_ long time.

What was it about men with dark shaggy hair and crossbows that got under her skin so much?

.

.


	24. Run until you can catch your breath

**Author's Corner**

Helloooo! Thank you all so much again for the wonderful support you never fail to give, I love you all.

I can't believe we're twenty-four chapters in now. Wow. Sometimes it feels like I only just started this story, but thank you everyone for making it such an enjoyable experience. I hope you're enjoying reading this piece of torture (to read _and_ write), and I just wanted to give a shout out to one particular reader who posts guest reviews, but is known as **worthallyourgalleons** on tumblr. Your responses make my day, and I'm really glad you enjoy it :D

This chapter uses a quote from the edit I made recently, which you can find on my tumblr page (link is in my bio) if you wanna see. The characters displayed in the edit are Beth, Effy (I used Nina Dobrev since that's how I picture her and just made her eyes green), Edwards, Shepherd, Lilly, and Morgan.  
I don't know why I felt the need to tell you that, because you probably could've seen for yourself. XD

Check the tag for more edits, art, quotes, and updates.

 **Disclaimer:** I haven't found Scott Gimple yet, so the show still belongs to him... Damn.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Dwight was stood on the roof of the broken down bus, crossbow slung over his shoulder and chest puffed out.

Everyone had gathered below to listen to him talk, and Beth stared up at his painfully haughty stance with folded arms.

"Ok." he bellowed, "So a few of ya might be aware that the bus is no longer operational, meaning a change o' plan is in order."

Beth wondered what the initial plan _was_ before they'd had this little blip in the system. She also wondered how someone like Dwight had managed to keep all these people alive and functional for so long.

"Since we ain't got transport now, we gotta walk. We take our stuff, walk along this road by the cliffs, and if we're lucky we'll find some workin' cars along the way."

" _That's_ the plan?" Effy whispered to her, "He thinks strolling all these people along, elderly and children included . . . is a good idea?"

"It's not a good idea . . . " Beth agreed, "But sometimes bad ideas work."

On rare occasions, if the leader was valiant enough.

"Did the man leading your group make decisions like that that worked . . . ? Rick Grimes?"

". . . Yeah."

He did.

 _Now you put down your weapons, walk through those gates_ _. . ._ _you're one of us. We let go of all of it, and nobody dies._

 _Everyone who's alive right now_ _. . ._ _Everyone's who's made it this far_ _. . ._

"Now come on people, let's move!" Dwight clapped his hands and climbed down from the top of the bus to go to the front of the huddle. He gave Beth a stern look on his way, which she returned and unfolded her arms at.

 _We all can change_.

Liar.

Giving Effy a nod and a light pat on the shoulder, Beth jogged off to the front as well, to where Dwight was reloading his crossbow.

She watched the process mechanically, eyes following his fingers as they cocked the string and attempted to push the bolt with chipped blue sails into place. It was similar, but he did it differently to Daryl. And not a good differently either.

 _Yer gonna break yer knuckles if ya cock it that way, Greene,_ the Daryl echo came from inside her head. _Do it at more vertically. That's it._

Dwight glanced up from his work and gave her a demanding scowl, and she frowned in turn.

"You're gonna hurt your hand if you do it that way," she said harshly, "You're doin' it too rushed an' clumsy."

He snorted.

"An' I s'pose _you_ know that 'cause you're an all-around expert on this kind'a thing. Ain't ya, blondie?"

"I know a little."

"An' I know a _lot_. I've been doin' this for longer than you've been _alive_. Back off an' leave me alone."

"Suit yourself. But it'd be a lot easier if you were more vertical with your pull. Just saying."

Her words barely sounded like her own, and she felt a flush of pride when Dwight's brow creased and he tried the way she'd said. The bolt slotted into place with ease, and did so with a firm _click!_ and she imagined Daryl's smug smirk if he could see her now, and had to bite down on her tongue to resist the grin that threatened to show.

Dwight tilted his head up to look at her and narrowed his eyes skeptically.

"Never took you as the crossbow type of gal." he muttered.

Don't _call me 'gal'._

"Guess I'm not just another squeamish blonde after all, huh?"

He scoffed and stood up, slinging the bow strap over his shoulder in a way that pained her to watch. The tattoos on his right shoulder rippled with his muscle, and the faded lines contracted and flexed with movement. The design was pretty ambiguous, just a cluster of lines and shapes, but the one shape Beth could pick out was the crisp outline and white fill of a skull, bones sharp and almost 3D-looking.

It paled in comparison to the mysterious but weirdly elegant winged creature she'd caught glimpses of on Daryl's right bicep though. She wondered how many more tattoos like that were hidden away, inked across Daryl's skin, hidden beneath all that leather and dirt.

The hairs on Dwight's arm scattered in patches along the piece of . . . art, and all along his body. His exposed stomach was _covered_ in it. Thankfully, with colder times coming, he might start to clothe himself in new layers for warmth, covering sights like those from anyone who happened to look's vision. He caught the semi-repulsed look she was wearing and returned it, before striding off along the road with the intent of being followed.

She did follow him. They all did.

And they started walking.

.

.

Of course, there would be a flaw in Dwight's plan.

After a few hours of walking along the cliffs, the path became rougher and more perilous, and the road eventually started to cave away due to constant corrosion. Eventually, there was no path left. Just a steep drop down to the sands and ocean below, and they came to an abrupt halt at the edge. Gregg clung to Lilly's hand, and Beth watched the frustration itching away in Dwight's eyes.

He stared down at the drop for a while, before turning and heading inland towards the woods. They followed him into the leafy turf, and Beth was surprised to find herself _relaxing_ as her boots sunk into the soft soil of the wood. She looked up and stared into the green screen of leaves overhead, feeling the warmth of sunlight streaming down through small gaps, and closed her eyes to listen to the sounds.

Beyond the stomping footfalls and quiet chatter, there were sounds Beth recognised.

Small, familiar sounds she'd grown to know as a language.

Trees whispering, breezes blowing through the area, and birds whistling and rustling above. She leaned down to a crouch and shoved her fingers into the dry leaves scattered across the ground, feeling the dirt beneath them and crunching the leaves up into her fist. She rubbed them until they broke down into tiny pieces that eventually blew away on the wind, fragments of crispy leaf floating away as if they were flying. Even _they_ could fly, and they didn't need wings.

Edwards came to a stop beside her, staring down in bewilderment. "What are you doing?" he asked, breaking the pleasant trance she'd found herself in.

She looked up and him and stared.

"Nothing really . . ." she trailed, rising to her feet slowly, "It's just been a while since I've been out here. In the woods. After all the cities, the towns, the open road . . . It's been a while since I've been out here again. I'd forgotten what it feels like."

"What does it feel like to you?"

"It feels . . ."

 _What can ya smell?_

"Like I'm _certain_. Certain of . . . something."

 _What can ya hear?_

"Like everything up until now has all been this wild dream, and coming back to this, after all this time . . . it's real, and I'm a part of it. Everything is real."

"You spent a lot of time in woods then?" he asked, "Before. Before you were taken to Grady."

"We practically _lived_ in them before we found the prison. Woods was all I saw for a long time. No towns, no people. Especially when I was with Daryl. It was just everything. All that surrounded us."

 _Kinda felt like I was one of the last two people left on earth, and woods was all there was, stretching out for miles and miles ahead. All we could do was wander, just keep walking, but that was okay. We were okay._

 _I was Eve, he was Adam, and that was okay._

"That's where you were before you were captured . . . isn't it? With Daryl in the woods?"

"There wasn't _just woods_ then . . . There was starting to be more. More than that . . . More . . ."

 _Maybe we should stick around here for a while_.

Beth wasn't sure if she was talking about the setting or something else now, and apparently, Edwards wasn't sure either.

 _Is he really just a friend to you?_

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore," she said softly, beginning to start walking again.

 _Daryl is very important to me_.

Sometimes it hurt to talk about things that were important to you. Especially if you didn't understand the importance of something. And that was what made the wound sting more in Beth. What made it feel rawer and fresher.

 _You meant_ _. . ._ Mean _a lot to him too. Maybe even more than you know._

 _Maybe._

"Ok . . ." he said.

Still too many maybes.

A shrill crunching of leaves in the distance caught her attention and made her jump in surprise. Edwards heard it too, for he turned his head in the direction of the sound and stilled, hand cautiously shifting to the knife at his hip, a gesture he was unfamiliar with having not yet made any direct kills of his own.

That still had to change.

Beth whistled to get Dwight's attention and brought a finger to her lips, essentially silencing him and the rest of the group. Everything went still in the wood, trees ceasing their whispers and birds silencing their songs. Complete and utter silence, apart from the constant tense breaths every individual took . . .

And then came the snarl.

One lone walker staggering towards them pathetically, alarming the children and making them scamper towards the adults. It snapped its jaws when it neared them, and Beth reached for the pickaxe and strode over to the approaching creature. About a yard away, she swung the axe up and then thrust it straight into the walker's head, ceasing its movements and sending it crumbling to the leafy ground. She pulled the point of the axe out with a shrill _squelch!_ and wiped a splatter of old blood from her right cheek.

All the children bar Gregg whimpered with fear as she turned back to face the others, face painted with red and brown, and eyes glowing with a dull hue, making them appear almost grey, lacking the glittering blue they usually confined.

 _You don't have to_.

More distant groans and shuffling across the dry leaves sounded, and more walkers began to emerge from the trees.

 _You don't_.

Edwards reached for his knife, trembling, but Beth put a hand over his and stopped him.

Dwight stared at her with irritated confusion all over his face, and she glanced over at him.

"You wanna know? What do we do now?" she asked, "We run. It's not worth the effort to take them all out, so we just run."

" _Run_? Why the fuck would we do _that_? We ain't cowards."

"We're not cowards, but if we stay here someone's gonna get hurt, they always do, an' we don't have the firepower to do a perfect job anyway. So we go with the alternative."

"The one that includes us runnin' away with our tails between our legs?"

The walkers noticed them and started screeching instinctively, and Beth shot him a piercing grimace.

"You said that bein' a leader made you know which decisions were right, that those choices had to keep as many people alive as possible . . . _This_ is right, an' you know it is. We have to run."

 _We_ have _to._

And they did.

They started running.

Shepherd set off with a few others following, Effy sprinting beside Tanaka, and before they knew it everybody was running. Though reluctant and pissed as hell, Dwight did too, jumping over fallen logs with the crossbow bouncing at his back. Lilly ran beside Edwards with Gregg's hand clutched in hers, shooting him a strangely daring look which made his mouth tighten. Beth looked back over her shoulder, watching the walkers eventually begin to vanish from sight behind the trees, and whipped her head back to the front.

She bounded with the group, arms swinging and legs sprinting furiously, and found an odd sense of unexplainable _joy_ at the feeling. Of being able to run. _Fast_. Through the woods, leaves beneath her boots and a musky wind blowing on her face.

She slid the pickaxe into the gap between her jeans and where the plaid shirt was tied and increased her speed so she had overtaken Morgan. She ran past everyone until she reached Dwight at the front, who shot her a look as he ran clumsily, and she grinned inwardly as she overtook him too.

Her ponytail swung with every spring of her legs, and the braid slapped against her neck continuously, a giddy feeling rising to her head as her muscles burned and ached. But the ache was good, sizzling, scorching right to the bone. Sweat was budding across her skin and her breath was becoming rougher, but she didn't slow. Not now, and perhaps never again. Running was what she'd been taught to do from the start.

 _You run, Beth_ , she heard Rick mandate. _Run until you feel you're safe, even though there's no place that's really safe now. Run until ya get a chance to catch your breath, then get up an' run again._

 _Be Hershel's daughter. Be a survivor._

 _And live._

They ran for what must have been hours, their breaths laboured and their bodies coated in sweat, and eventually, they ran into a clearing.

It was more like an open field really, with hordes of weeds and wild thistles, and Beth pushed the harsh shrubbery aside with her fists and bounded over the turf. Until finally, she jumped over a bristly bush and fell down in the grass on her back, stretching her burning limbs out and taking deep thirsty breaths.

Others collapsed in the grass around her, and she turned her head to see Edwards fallen in the grass on his front, heaving desperate breaths as his glasses fell forward onto the green. He glanced up at her and managed a breathy grin, and she smiled back before laying her head back to stare at the sky.

She watched the blue flashes dart across the immense expanse of grey overhead and saw dark shapes soaring high amongst the swelling clouds.

Birds.

A whole flock of them.

She still wanted to fly, way up and away from all of it, spreading her wings and riding the sky's current, knowing that wherever that breeze took her, it might be somewhere closer to _them_.

 _But I ain't got no wings._

 _Neither do I, Morgan, but I know someone who does. And it doesn't make the slightest bit of a difference for him._

The wings themselves could only get a person so far. Baby birds didn't just leap from the nest and flap their wings the second they were born. They had to grow first, be nurtured. Taught. They had to learn to believe in themselves in order to do it, and if a person couldn't do that . . . Then they could never fly, even if the wings outstretched and touched skyscrapers with its tips.

That wasn't the sole ingredient.

Beth lifted an aching arm up to trace one of the soaring silhouettes with her finger, breath heavy and dry, and some strands of hair stuck to the upper arm with sweat. She watched those birds flying away and thought of one of the first things she'd thought when she'd opened her eyes in that trunk.

What she'd promised, to herself, and to them.

She'd sworn to fight until she simply couldn't go on, because she would rather go down fighting to live than surrender to pain and give herself over to death.

Despite the pain and horrors she'd been through so far, everything she'd seen and lost, she still hadn't given up.

They'd started out in that treacherous place in Atlanta, and now they were miles across a different state, _alive_. She was still alive.

 _Giving up be damned._

She'd been given a second chance and she'd taken it, because she didn't have a choice anymore. She owed it to them to prove them wrong and stay alive. Because Daryl had inexplicitly said she wouldn't last out here, and he was wrong. So wrong.

.

.

They walked through the woods for the majority of the morning, stopping around noon by the edge of a creek to gather their bearings. The children darted into the water and began paddling, their giggles airy and gentle, and the elders sat themselves down on rocks beside the stream, everyone settling themselves down for a while.

Dwight was still alert, crossbow loaded and him standing atop a large rock a little upstream, keeping watch for any signs of danger.

Lilly was in position on the opposite end with Edwards and Effy, and Morgan and Shepherd were sitting by the water, cleaning Tanaka's arm stump. The flesh was rotten and raw, a chunk of bone just visible, and he winced when the water poured over the sore area.

Her daddy had gotten a cleaner cut than him.

Beth looked up at Dwight and chewed the inside of her cheek.

Matty passed her a look from where he sat with Mark and a few others, and flashed a small smile. She tried to cover the surprise on her face at the action and merely nodded in response. Smiles were a lot harder to give out now, it seemed, and a lot rarer to receive from others.

She wiped some beads of sweat from her brow and climbed up the rock Dwight was standing on. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye as she sat down and dangled her legs over the edge, but didn't say anything. The heat of noon was strong on top of the distant blaze miles back, but the cold of autumn was starting to seep in, and Beth felt goose bumps rising on her bare arms as she sat there.

She untied the plaid shirt from around her middle and pushed her arms into it, and felt glad of the extra warmth. They needed extra layers if they were going to survive the cold season, especially if they were going to be out on the road for it.

Getting to the reason she'd come up here, she tilted her head to look at Dwight and gave him a serious expression.

"We need to talk."

"Big fuckin' surprise," he grunted, folding his arms and sitting himself down cross-legged on the rock, deliberately quite a way away from her. "What about?"

"About what we're doing. About if we're staying together or if we're going our separate ways."

"An' which one of those options are you gonna try and talk me into?"

She bit down on her frown.

"Listen . . . I know you don't like me, or any of the people I brought along with me, but trust me when I say this . . . We're stronger together."

"So you wanna tag along with us, huh, blondie?"

"No. _You'll_ be taggin' along with _us_ when you hear what I have to say."

"The hell is that supposed to mean? Why the fuck would I follow _you_?"

Her frown stretched and a noise of irritation growled from the back of her throat.

"I don't like you either," she said, "But you have people with you. _Children_ , and elderly. I don't want them to die just because I don't like _you_."

"So go on then, fuckin' spit it out then."

"Me and my friends, we're headed north, to Virginia. There's a settlement up there, and I'm hopin' some of the people I know will be there too. From what I heard, it's got walls, food, shelter . . . It's safe. And that's what these people need. You're a leader. You _know_ that's what they need. They need to feel safe again."

"And you think I should trudge hundreds of miles after you to some wonderland I have no way of knowin' is really there. That _you_ don't know for sure is there. Sounds like a damn worse plan than mine."

"If you don't wanna come, that's fine, but if that's your decision, look me in the eye and tell me those kids don't want to be able to feel safe again."

 _To play in the grass, eat at a table, sleep in a warm bed_ _. . ._

 _Tell me they don't want that._

"You know that's what they want. It's what you've been trying to give them. You're cold, and ruthless, but you're not a monster. You took children that can't even hold a gun, and elders that struggle to walk, and you didn't have to. You didn't have to do that but you still did. You want that for them. You want them to be safe."

His brow creased and he looked away, picking at the paint on his bow.

 _You're trying to save these people, and maybe that makes you a bit less of an asshole._

 _You're out here risking your life to save others._

 _That's something._

"Tell me they don't want that," she said again, softer this time.

"Of _course_ they fuckin' want that. Who doesn't? S'what everybody wants now. But dreams like that . . . fillin' people's heads with impossible shit like that . . . That's what gets 'em killed. Takin' chances like that always get people killed in the end."

"It'll get them killed if they _don't_ take those chances too."

"What would _you_ do if ya were in my position?" he asked, "What would you do, huh? A complete stranger comes up an' tells ya there's this sanctuary hundreds of miles up the country, and tells you to come with 'em . . . What would you do? They could be liars, thugs, _killers_ _. . ._ How do you take yer responsibility as the one in charge and make that choice?"

"I don't know. I've never had to make a choice like that."

Rick was always the one who's made decisions like that.

He was the one who'd always chased the monsters away and kept them safe.

"How can ya ask somethin' like that then, if ya don't even know how it feels to be asked a question like that?"

Rick had always saved them, but he wasn't here now, so Beth had to save herself and everyone else.

But . . . wasn't that what she'd been doing so far?

All this time? Wasn't that _it_?

"Being in charge is hard." she said, "It's brutal, conflicting, and sometimes you gotta make the hardest decisions you've ever made, like you said. But makin' a choice like that . . . There's only one way you can come to a decision. Just one, no matter if it's crazy or not."

"What?"

"Does it keep people alive?"

 _Does it inspire them, strengthen, build, and give them the hope that things will be okay?_

"Will it keep them alive for just a day longer than not taking the chance would? An hour longer? A _second_ longer? Is it worth the risk?"

One last chance.

"Will it keep them holding on?"

Dwight scrunched up his mouth and stared at her with a piercing annoyance, and she knew her words had gotten under his skin.

She had a knack for that apparently.

He scratched a strip of black paint off the front of his bow and stared down at the kids playing in the water. Beth watched the thinking flicker through his exposed swollen eye, and how the burned flesh retracted around his brow as it drew downward.

Just as he was about to open his mouth to answer, a scream diverted both their gazes to the right . . . where a cluster of walkers had stumbled across the elders and children, and were opening their jaws to snap.

.

.


	25. Our wishes

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

"Fuckin' _shit_!" Dwight swore as he jumped from the rock, his crossbow cocked and ready to fire as he sped towards the cluster of walkers that had approached the screeching children.

Beth leaped up just after he did, drawing her pickaxe and following. Panic rung in her ears and her heart beat rapidly as Dwight fired an arrow at just one of the walkers.

Before she or anyone could reach them, one of the walker's grabbed one of the little girls by her hair and sunk its teeth deep into her neck. She screamed so loud Beth thought she might've lost her hearing for a second or two, but she still heard the terrible scream of utter anguish. Blood sprayed out from where the creature had its mouth fastened to her neck and it tore out a chunk of dripping red flesh that revealed several torn veins and a ruptured artery.

The girl's cry was broken as her voice box was ripped out next, and everyone around was screaming with panic too as another walker caught hold of Gregg.

Dwight reached the scene and tore the walker away from Gregg, shoving his fist into its temple and beating it ruthlessly into the ground, pulp and rotted brain spurting out with every punch until the thing eventually lost consciousness. He then ran and slammed the one gnawing at the little girl, knocking it away and she tumbled to the ground in a bleeding, crying heap.

Beth ran up to another and sliced the sharp end of the axe into its head, and Morgan came up to take care of the one coming up behind her, abetted by Shepherd and Tanaka. Lilly drew her gun, but instead of firing it, she rammed the barrel into a walker's head and killed it that way, its now limp body falling to the ground, dead.

Gregg retraced into Effy's side at the sight, and she hugged him tightly.

When all of them were dead, Beth shook clumps of brain matter and blood from her axe and jolted her head towards the bitten little girl.

She was lying on the ground on her back sobbing helplessly, tears and snot running down her face, and a huge segment of her neck had been torn out. The blood poured out in streams, soaking the dirt with it, and her sobs were hitching and breaking along with her missing voice box. Some of the adults were crying in horror, the pregnant woman—Lisa—frozen on the spot, and Beth slowly stepped closer to where the little girl lay. The group watched her slowly lower herself to the ground, and plant a hand softly on the child's dripping red chest.

Sally, the girl was called, said Mark.

Little Sally, her brown hair tied in pigtails, and her dirty summer dress with stripy tights. She looked up at Beth through tear-stained brown eyes, her lower lip wobbling, and made a shrill whining noise.

Beth's brow trembled and her lips parted, her hand sliding down into Sally's smaller one and taking it to lace their fingers together. She held her hand and looked at her, and managed to flash a watery smile.

 _It's okay_ , she wanted to say. _It's gonna be okay._

Even though it wasn't.

 _You're gonna be just fine_ , _I promise. You're gonna get through this_ _._ _Nothing's gonna hurt you._

A lone tear slid down her cheek, the only one brave enough to emerge, the droplet catching on the bumpy scar there, and she squeezed Sally's hand, suppressing a despaired whimper.

 _Nothing, Doodlebug._

 _". . . Sing me to sleep . . .  
Sing me to sleep,  
I'm tired, and I . . . want to go to bed . . ."_

The adults had quietened their crying and everything had suddenly gone quiet, all except the sound of Beth's shaky singing. A sad song, echoing out into the wood. So sad that even the trees stopped their whispering, and the birds ceased their songs.

No voices. No breaths.

Everything stood still and listened to the song for a little girl who was dying.

 _"Sing me to sleep,  
Sing me to sleep . . .  
And then leave me alone.  
Don't try to wake me in the morning,  
'Cause I will be gone."_

Thick, hot tears fell from Sally's eyes as she swallowed and choked on a mouthful of blood, the red liquid erupting out and painting her lips and chin that colour.

She gave Beth one last smile and closed her eyes, shoulders shaking gently and body twitching.

One last smile. A smile of gratitude.

 _Why would you even_ want _to thank me for this?_

 _"Don't feel bad for me,  
I want you to know . . .  
Deep in the cell of my heart,  
I will feel so glad to go."_

Until eventually, the twitching and wild body spasms stopped, and Sally's grip on her hand loosened.

 _"There is another world . . ."_

Loosened until there was nothing.

Just nothing.

 _"There is a better world . . ."_

Only death . . .

 _Always_ death.

No change. Always the same. Never changing.

 _"Well . . . There must be."_

There _must_ be, somewhere out there. But even if there was, that wasn't the world they lived in. Even if there was a better world where everything was okay and nobody died . . . They weren't on it. They were still stuck on this rotting surface of the earth, being chased by the dead, hunted by living . . . Running away from _everything_.

Dwight was right about one thing—the running had to stop.

Someday, someday when they didn't have to run anymore. When they could feel safe again, and maybe even _be_ safe too, as well as feeling it.

She took the gun Edwards silently put in her hand and held it up against the unmoving Sally's temple, hand shaking ever so slightly . . . and pulled the trigger.

The bullet shot through the flesh and bone with a booming _squelch!_ and it echoed out into the silence. She removed the weapon once the hole was punctured through the little girl's head, more blood oozing out and running down her cheek, and she stood up. Her eyes were glossed over with unshed tears, throat clogged with them too, and her entire vision was completely hazy.

She squeezed the handle of the gun and turned to look at Morgan. He nodded and leaned down to pick the girl up, and he cradled her in his arms like a broken little doll. He carried her behind Mark and Matty, who'd pulled out two shovels and begun digging a hole, and Edwards came to stand beside Beth.

She stifled a sob and rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand.

The doctor glanced at her from the corner of his eye and clutched the pack containing his previous serum-filled briefcase closely. His eyes too were trained on the deceased Sally in Morgan's arms, and something low and sad was flickering in Edwards's eyes.

Memories flickering by, like flames.

"You looked like that . . ." he said quietly, "When he carried you out to your sister. You looked just like that."

 _I looked dead because I_ should've _been dead. I should've been dead just like Sally, but I'm not._

 _I'm still here, I'm alive._

 _And it isn't fair._

"The only difference is that she's gonna be buried in a grave," Beth said quietly.

 _A grave she deserved_.

"My friends thought the trunk of a car would do, I guess."

 _We don't even have funerals anymore, because the death never stops._

Beth watched the chunks of dirt be tossed up from the working shovels and watched as Morgan and the others helped lower Sally into the ground, no coffin in sight to use. They covered her with one of the blankets, and the tatty brown veil fell over her face and covered her from sight.

The dirt was shoveled back into the shallow hole with small handfuls, and the sound of soil being crunched up filled the air.

"They might not have left you there on purpose," Edwards offered, "Maybe something else happened? Maybe they were planning on coming back?"

". . . Maybe."

 _Maybe_ didn't mean anything to her anymore.

Not after everything that had happened.

It just sounded like an excuse now, and she didn't want to, and _couldn't_ , hear any more excuses.

No more.

Maybe _is just another lie_.

.

.

"How did these walkers get so close and nobody noticed?"

Lilly went silent along with everyone else as Beth's question lingered in the air, avoiding her eyes and failing to respond.

The blonde's question was harsh, her expression severe, and Lilly almost felt _guilty_ if she were to meet her blazing eyes. Gregg squeezed her hand suddenly, his fingers shaking, and his eyes were trained on his feet. She squeezed back and tightened her mouth, pushing a clump of brown strands back behind her ear.

"Well?" Beth pushed, swallowing any sliver of nerves she might have had and replacing it with anger.

With _rage_.

"How didn't anybody notice?"

Each word was spoken slowly and with a short interval between, and the tone of her speech had lowered about an octave. Lilly barely recognised the sound of her voice in that moment, and the girl from before who spoke of hope and dreams seemed not even the same person.

Dwight stared at her, quite blatantly too. He was watching her at her side, head tilted down, and with a shield drawn over his expression, making it what he probably thought was impossible to decipher what he was thinking.

The look seemed almost judgemental because of his drawn down brows, but Lilly sensed it wasn't intended to look that way. It was more a sense of empathy. _Pitiful_ , even.

The look didn't seem to bother Beth.

After burying Sally, they'd walked a few miles down the stream, following the crappy compass Thomas carried with him north. An air of tension had settled as they were walking, and Beth strode at the front with a hard expression settled on her features.

No one had attempted—or dared—to talk to her. Not even Effy, who seemed so open and familiar with her.

Even Dwight had saved his side remarks for once.

Some of the others in the group were crying quietly, hands clasped for support, and Morgan walked at Beth's right side silently. Lilly saw him passing quick, discrete glances every now and then, but Beth just ignored them. When they stopped to make camp for the night, when the light began to fade, Beth finally voiced what she'd probably been thinking for some time now.

"Those children were playing close to everybody," she said to the group, "There were people on watch at one end of the formation and people at the other . . . So, where did it go _wrong_?"

 _Where did_ you _go wrong?_ Lilly thought she wanted to say.

David stepped forward and answered.

"Those things came out of nowhere," he said, "We had people on watch at either end like you said . . . But we weren't countin' on them coming out of the _water_."

Lilly's eyes widened massively in sync with Beth at that.

"They came out of the water?" Beth asked.

"Yeah. It was the only end that wasn't covered. They rose up from the stream an' caught us off guard. It wasn't anybody's fault."

"No, no," she shook her head, "They shouldn't be able to move in the water. Their rotting legs are too weak to withstand the current. They would've toppled over and floated away."

"These ones didn't."

Lilly thought of the walker she'd spied from the top of the RV when Brian had gone to make war with the survivors from the prison. How she'd spotted it staggering through the shallow waters of the river, whilst Meghan sat playing in the mud, and gripped the hilt of her gun, pressuring herself to shoot if necessary.

But the thing hadn't gotten very far, the current breaking its decaying limbs like Beth said, and eventually, it fell forward and washed down the river on the current.

They shouldn't be able to . . . So why could they _now_?

First, the biters were becoming faster . . .

Now, this.

What was going _on_? What had changed?

Beth shook her head and maintained her severe countenance. "Even so, we have to be ready for _anythin'_. You can't count on things being the way you expect them to be. The dead control things now. If you're not ready, you die. It only takes one second. Just one second, and everything you know is over. You're _dead_."

Lilly saw the way people were squirming uncomfortably and felt a chilling shiver run down her own spine at those words.

 _The dead control things now_.

She'd asked Brian where they should go next, and he'd replied with something like that as well.

He recognized the element control too.

 _Where should we go?_

 _Wherever they let us. There's no use making a plan._

 _Who?_

 _The roads. The biters._

 _They_ were in control now. Humanity was just prey, a source of meat, and the predators were hungry. They were always hungry. So what could they do to avoid being eaten? Run like gazelles, just like Beth said.

Run and hide.

.

.

They walked for most of the day, Dwight huffing and puffing quietly at the front and Beth passing sharp, quick glances at his side. The light was slowly fading, the sun crawling off behind the hills in the west like a coward, and the shadows that surrounded them were growing rapidly. Dwight noticed this as well because he came to a stop in a small mossy clearing and turned back to face the rest.

"We'll rest here for a while." he bellowed, "Tonight and maybe t'night after that too. We need to save our strength."

Tension flowed out of the group's shoulders and they all went to find a comfortable position in the new camp.

Beth watched them move like cattle and glanced around the area calculatingly.

She moved closer to Dwight and lowered her voice.

"We need to set up some precautions," she said, "Secure the perimeter so we know when a walker is comin' this time."

"Don't stress yerself, blondie. I can get people on watch."

"That's not enough. There are still too many blind spots. They'll still get us."

"Then what do _you_ suggest, huh?" he asked haughtily, puffing his chest out and staring down at her. "What can ya offer that'll stop these _walkers_ from gettin' us?"

She pursed her lips and pondered.

". . . Do you have any string?"

His brows shot downward. " _What_?" he snapped.

"String. Y'know, like thread? Rope? Do you have any?"

He seemed to think about it for a moment, before turning to look for something or someone amongst the flock of people.

"Lisa?" he called, catching the pregnant woman's attention.

She looked up from where she sat next to her husband, Mark.

"Yu got any of that tough thread you were usin' left?" Dwight asked.

She blinked in surprise at first, before smiling weakly.

"Yeah," she nodded, "I do."

She reached for her pack, which Mark passed quickly, and she dug around inside before producing a long coil of tough string.

Beth almost smiled.

Lisa looked up at her and gave a gentle smile. "Here," she said, holding up the coil for her.

Beth blinked semi-awkwardly before walking over to the woman and her husband. She leaned down and took the string from her, and wished desperately to be able to smile in gratitude.

"Thank you," she said instead, earning another smile from the woman.

"Don't you mention it, dear." Lisa smiled, "I'm happy to help whenever I can, given how useless I am at the moment."

Beth trailed her gaze down to the swollen tummy sticking out of the blanket, and bit down on her lip to prevent it from trembling.

Mark rubbed his hand up and down his wife's back. "You're gonna be ok, Lise." he said, "You're gonna be fine."

 _Maybe she will,_ one half of Beth's mind mused . . . but the other half was too focused on Maggie's face after she'd walked out into the prison yard holding a blood-soaked baby in her arms, tears streaming down her face.

That had been the defining moment. For all of them, but for Rick especially.

In that moment, Rick's heart had shattered into a million pieces that couldn't be put back together again.

 _No more_.

Coil of thread in her hands, she walked back over to Dwight. He stared down at the thread, puzzled, and she looked away from his judgemental gaze.

"Edwards?" she called, catching the doctor's attention and making him flinch slightly.

"Yes?"

"Can you help me with something?"

"Uh . . . Sure."

He got up from where he was sitting beside Morgan and Effy and walked over to her.

"What do you need?" he asked.

She held up the coil of thread in response, passing a quick glance at Dwight before answering.

"We need to set up an alarm system," she said, "And I think I know how to do that, but I need help, and for this I'd like help from someone that I actually like."

Dwight snorted and walked off, and Edwards squirmed with both pride and embarrassment. Readjusting his glasses nervously, he looked straight at her and nodded.

"What do you need me to do?"

She placed the thread in his hands.

"C'mon. I'll show you."

.

.

Beth looked up at Edwards from where she was tying the thread in a knot around a tree, and watched him attach a metal container to the hanging string. Thread hung all around the makeshift camp now, tied to trees with various metal items attached to them to alert them to the presence of any walkers that might wander by. A mini security system—simple but effective.

Just like Daryl had taught her.

 _I'm not staying in this suck-ass camp!_

It was ironic, she thought, that after screaming in his face and complaining about that sucky little camp of theirs . . . that she'd end up walking right back into one just like it.

 _Ironic doesn't even come close to describin' it, Greene._

She gave the Daryl in her head an irritated middle finger before returning to tying the knot.

Edwards was a fast learner when it came to this sort of thing, quick with his fingers and eager to help. And unlike so many other people, he understood the simple joy of silence. He didn't feel the need to fill the silence with unnecessary rambling or small talk, and for just a second, Beth found herself pretending the crunches of feet on leaves and low breaths belonged to someone _else_.

How she'd hated that unbearable silence at first. Despised his lack of showing any kind of emotional to anything. That was before the silence had started to melt away into something more than just silence.

Something pleasant. Comfortable.

Something like home, only newer.

She finished tying the knot and dusted off her greasy hands on her thighs. When she did this, Edwards stepped away from his work and looked at her. He looked like he wanted to say something, but was holding the words back with his sealed lips, and her brow creased at his expression.

"What is it?" she asked finally, breaking the not entirely uncomfortable silence.

He fidgeted.

 _What?_

"Edwards?"

Awkwardly, he reached down into his jacket and fumbled around in the large inside pocket for something. Beth watched his messy actions with puzzlement, watching the discomfort flicker across his features before he withdrew a small object from his pocket . . .

A book. A little book with a faded green cover and tattered spine. It wasn't just _any_ book either . . .

"Where did you get that?" she breathed, eyes fixed on what she recognised as . . . _her journal_.

He held the book in his hands and looked down at the ground, lips twitching with nerves. Eventually, his gaze trailed back up to meet hers, and he swallowed.

"Back at the hospital . . ." he murmured, "When you were stripped of all your personal belongings . . . I found this. This book. A _journal_. I didn't know what was in it at first, didn't understand what . . . So I took a look . . ."

 _He did_ _. . . ?_

 _Oh,_ _Lo_ _rd._

". . . Did you read it?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek.

"I'm sorry. I knew I shouldn't have, knew I should put it away and not look at it. But I just . . . _couldn't_."

Beth's expression held no rage for his what could be called an invasion of her privacy, only curiosity, and the will to understand.

"Why couldn't you?"

His mouth tightened and he stared down at the journal.

"This book . . ." he said, "This book is special. It holds so many stories; so many secrets. I read it and I understood what you'd been through, not fully, but it was like I was seeing it through your eyes. Like being engrossed in an elaborate novel, I was captivated by it . . . _Entranced_. This world that you spoke of outside the hospital walls that had become my prison, it was a completely different world. A brutal one. Savage . . . But new."

 _Like a novel._

Those memories were nothing but pain and sorrow to her, but to him . . . They were stories. Tales of monsters, and moral struggle, and heartbreak. The kind of stories Beth herself would have read before Hell had poured itself onto the world and poisoned it.

Where Beth saw pain, he saw knowledge.

He was trying to understand, and that was what she'd been trying to get him to do all along.

He wanted to see.

"I know I shouldn't have read it without your permission," he mumbled, clearly ashamed of his own actions, "I wanted to give it back to you . . . But I hadn't finished it. I wanted to see how it ended, how you got here, who you were with . . . I wanted to know more about the people that came to the hospital doors and were willing to risk _everything_ for you."

She thought about the time in the church, back when Edwards had insinuated that there had been something going on between her and Daryl. She thought about how his name had seemed so familiar on the doctor's tongue, though there was no way he could have ever possibly heard or used the name, _Daryl Dixon_ , before.

And now it made sense.

"That's how you knew about Daryl." she breathed, the revelation suddenly making everything clear, "That's why you asked me about him. About _us_. That's how you knew _everything_ '."

"When I saw the rage in his eyes after you were shot, and he reached down and pulled out his gun to shoot Dawn . . . When he knelt down beside your bleeding body, sniffling and whining like a lost dog, before picking you up and carrying you away . . . After I read those words you wrote about him in this book . . . I finally got it. Or, I _think_ I did. I understood what I saw that day but didn't understand."

Beth could feel her heartbeat in her mouth, and her cheeks were hot from the words coming from Edwards's mouth.

And then the three that came next very nearly stopped that heartbeat.

"I saw love."

There it was.

That one little word Beth had read about so many times, wished for over and over again, that she thought she'd _found_ with Jimmy, and then with Zach. The thing everyone was after, and secretly yearned for deep down.

"He was in love with you, and he was crying because he couldn't save you."

"He tried . . ."

"But he couldn't. And that's what I saw that day, in that second when the gunshot rang through the hallway . . . I saw him _break_."

Break.

Just like her.

Like a broken jukebox.

Edwards held the journal in his palms tightly, fingers shaking, and his eyes were glimmering behind his cracked glasses frames. He was holding back again, and Beth wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake the words out of him.

 _What is it?_

 _What?_

"Beth . . . ?" he whispered.

 _I saw him break._

"Do you love _him_?"

Unable to bear the weight wobbling at the back of her throat and in her chest any longer, Beth strode over to the doctor and threw her arms around him, pressing her chin into his shoulder and out of his sight. She squeezed his neck, her hold tight, and felt his arms hesitantly coming up and resting on her back. The journal, still tucked in his hand, pressed into the center of her back as he hugged her back, and she swallowed a sob.

Because she wouldn't cry.

She wouldn't.

Squeezing the collar of his green stripy shirt, she pushed her face into his shoulder and let him rub the empty hand up and down her back, her shoulders shaking as he did.

 _I don't cry. I don't. I don't cry anymore. I don't do that anymore. I can't, I won't, I_ don't _._

 _I promised_.

Edwards said something then, his voice quiet and muffled against her hair, but she still heard.

"I'm giving this back now," he said, shaking the journal in his hand, "I've held onto it long enough and it wasn't even mine to keep to begin with."

Nodding against his shoulder and blinking the tears away, she pulled away and allowed him to place the little green book into her hands. His smile was tiny and awkward as he passed it, and he took one of her hands and closed it over the book, squeezing it.

"It's time it returned to its rightful owner." he said, and she gave a teary smile, ". . . Write more of those words. Make more stories out of the memories. Write down the wishes . . . So when you get back to Daryl and Maggie, because you will . . . You've got all those pages of stories to show them."

 _You should write down wishes to make them come true._

 _Write them down. All of them. No matter how big, no matter how_ _crazy, no matter how impossible. Write them down. Because if you're lucky_ _. . ._ _If you're very, very lucky_ _. . ._

 _They might come true_.

.

.


	26. It's a small burning world, this one

**Author's Corner**

Thank you so much as usual for the outstanding reviews! You're all fantastic.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

The night was cold in the forest clearing, the heat from the inferno miles back, and the swelter from the dying flames of the campfire wasn't doing much to provide any more humidity.

Beth shivered in the plaid flannel shirt she had on. Effy provided a further sense of warmth, tucked up against her with her head resting on her shoulder. She'd slid her arm underneath Beth's and linked their arms together, spreading gentle heat through that area of her body. Morgan was asleep on her other side, his hands tucked into his sleeves and his head tilted down on his coat collar.

They were all bedded down pretty close together actually—Shepherd next to Effy, then Tanaka, Edwards, and Lilly with Gregg burrowed under her arm.

Some of the other survivors were asleep next to Morgan, including Mark and Lisa, Matty, and the little girl who'd sniggered when Beth had challenged Dwight back in the town. Alice. They were tucked up together like nesting birds, pressed close and practically _snuggling_ , and Beth felt a weight on her heart at the memories that arose because of the situation.

She glanced up from her position in the huddle to look at Dwight from where he sat across the clearing.

He was sitting on the chopped down stump of a tree, a blade in his hands and his shoulders slumped forward. He was facing her direction, and from where Beth sat she could just make out lines of stress and fatigue around his eyes . . . Or the one that worked properly, at least. Similar lines to the ones she saw around Rick's.

His eyelids drifted closed for a few seconds, the knife hanging in his grasp, and he sat up straighter, opening his eyes to stare at the black curtain drawn across the sky. When he did this, his gaze fell upon Beth's from all those meters away. She froze when she realised she'd been caught staring, and looked away quickly, breath sharp and uneven.

When she slowly shifted her gaze back over to him, she found he was still staring right back at her. The burned part of his face was cast in shadow, dark shapes crawling across his face like murky creatures, and his right eye flickered with quiet observation.

She remembered what he'd asked her earlier that day, before the walkers had come up from under the water and taken Sally. After she'd asked him to take his group and follow her to Richmond.

 _What would you do if ya were in my position?_

His eye still held that same that same question in it from across the dying fire, question low and burning.

 _How do ya make that choice?_

She stared back at him from where she was sitting and softened her expression. Her doing that seemed to surprise him, because his brows rose up ever so slightly, and the cracked skin on the left side of his face smoothened just a little.

He looked different without that rage in his features. Without that burden and murderous intent.

Peeling back the hardened facade she'd put on like a mask, she softened her expression completely, and her eyes held a layer of calm as they looked at him.

 _I told you the answer to that,_ they seemed to say. _You know how to make that choice._

There was only one way to come I such a decision. Just one, always one. The _only_ way.

 _Does it keep people alive?_

Dwight's method wasn't doing that, and they'd lost another today. A little girl, one who deserved so much better than the ending she'd received.

She'd deserved saving.

Beth knew Dwight wanted to save people. Like she'd said . . . He took children that couldn't hold a gun, elders that struggled to walk, and he didn't have to. He didn't have to but he _did_.

 _You want that for them._

He was trying, in his own messy and irrational way.

 _You want them to be safe_.

Even if it wasn't going the way he had planned.

Dwight's expression grew almost pained because of the expressive factor of her eyes, and he bit down on his tongue. His gaze shifted awkwardly, almost frustrated, and his brow creased with annoyance. The action was so painfully Daryl that Beth almost had to look away.

He stood up with the knife in his hands and walked off. Beth's eyes followed his retreating figure into the trees, the back of his leather jacket torn and dusty before he eventually disappeared. And she closed her eyes without giving it a second thought.

Because he wasn't Daryl.

.

.

"Huntin'?"

"Yeah, hunting. We need to go if we're gonna survive out here."

"And do you know how to hunt, huh?"

Beth folded her arms and gave Mark a knowing look.

"You _don't_?" she asked, a hint of subdued mockery in her tone.

"I could manage if it came to it," he said, "Can't be that hard to catch a rabbit or a squirrel or whatever's out here."

She smirked mentally.

"No . . . I guess not."

"I guess you'll just have to go out and get us somethin' then, since you're a master at it an' all."

"I will, but I'll need help."

"I'll come."

Beth and Mark turned to see Morgan approaching them, a large machete in his hand as he did.

"I can hunt," he said, "Had to when I was on my own comin' down from King County."

"King County, huh?" Beth inquired, "I know a couple of people in my group that are from there."

He smiled with pleasant surprise.

"Really?" he asked, "Small world."

A very small one.

Beth wondered for a moment if Morgan might've known Rick and Carl, maybe Lori and Shane too, but the sorrowful memory of Lori that washed over her in that moment prevented her from asking. And there was also the fact that Dwight came striding out from the woods for the first time since he'd vanished last night . . . with a cluster of rabbits slung over his shoulder.

He saw her partially surprised expression and looked at her with arrogant pride, before flashing his catches at Mark.

"Look what I got here," he grinned.

"You went hunting?" Beth asked, "But I thought you were on watch?"

"I was. But then I decided to go out an' see if I could bag us some game, it just startin' to turn light an' all. Besides, there were others on watch as well, so it's not like I left everybody unguarded."

"If something would'a happened to you, no one would have known. You should've told someone or at least taken somebody else with you—"

"Calm down, blondie. Everything's swell. I'm back in one piece, I got dinner, an' there are no walkers in sight."

"Not _yet_."

He scoffed and handed two of the rabbits to Terry, their bodies stretched and clean, killed by a single arrow through the eye or temple.

He was a good shot, that she would admit. Even if he didn't know how to cock his bow properly.

She sighed.

"Did you find anything else interesting out there?" she asked, "Any buildings . . . Supplies . . . Anythin' useful we could use?"

"Just a couple o' rifle ammo and these shitty jackets. Figured we could tear 'em up an' use 'em for when Lisa pops."

He reached into his pack and pulled out two fluffy jackets, filled with holes and impractical for wearing, but could be used for what he said. He passed them to Mark, who nodded and went back to attend his wife, leaving Beth with Morgan and Dwight.

Morgan eyed Dwight severely, eyes studying his form and face before he smacked his fists together in apparent realisation.

"I thought I'd seen you somewhere before," he started, "I saw you before ya got that burn on your face, a couple of months ago. You were leaving Savannah with a woman. I assumed you were both from Crawford, an' I stayed away from that place like the darn black plague, so I didn't really think much of it. I didn't see you again until a lot later, when ya finally came back into the city . . . Only that time you didn't have the woman with ya anymore . . . And ya had that giant burn on your face."

Dwight's expression darkened.

Beth saw the rage building in his eye as her eyes darted from Morgan to him. He was biting down on his tongue, his lips sealed together tight, and his brows were drawn down massively.

"You don't know _shit_." he spat.

"I know that you and her were leavin' in a hurry," Morgan countered, "But what I _don't_ know is why she didn't come back wit' you, and why or how you got that huge mark on your face. Did something happen to her—?"

"Ya don't fuckin' _need_ to know. I ain't tellin' you jack about what happened back then."

"Dwight . . ." Beth intervened, but stopped at the fierce glare the man gave her.

His charred eye twitched in its broken socket, swelled and pink, and she shivered under his repulsive gaze.

". . . I ain't tellin' shit," he said again, and he walked away.

Beth turned to face Morgan and shot him an intent look.

"What did you see?" she asked quietly, "Other than that. Tell me."

Morgan discretely glanced around the camp, looking for listeners, and put his palm on Beth's shoulder.

"Walk with me," he said in a low voice.

She followed him out of the clearing and along an overgrown pass, their footfalls soft to avoid drawing attention from the living _and_ the dead.

As they were walking, Morgan began to speak of the tale.

"Like I said to him just now, I saw him and a woman leaving Savannah in a hurry. In fact, it looked an awful lot like they were runnin' from somethin'."

"Why do you say that?"

"I wasn't quite in the right frame o' mind back then . . . Still ain't. But I could tell all the same. T'way they kept lookin' back over their shoulders, the bag of goods—stolen probably—they were makin' a run for it."

"From Crawford . . . ? Why?"

"Molly touched on this before, remember? About how strict the place was."

"Yeah, I remember. She mentioned some of the rules to us."

 _No children, elderly, or anyone with a medical condition were permitted._

"She said that anyone who broke or went against the rules was punished." she echoed, "These people were all from Crawford. There are kids, elderly, a woman who's pregnant . . . Did that get them kicked out?"

"I guess so. Molly sure made it sound that way."

Beth clutched Hilda's handle tightly, pressing her mouth together as she did.

"But what about Dwight and the woman? Why would they be running away? And why would he come back later without her? . . . Do you think she's dead?"

"I'm not sure," he admitted, "But I do have a bit of an idea about where they might'a been going, though it's only a small one."

"What?"

"There's all these phony safe zones around these days, all these false sanctuaries tryna lure people in. But I heard there was this certain one, way up north. A _real_ one, just before ya get to D.C. A genuine _safe_ zone. _Alexandria,_ they call it. They might'a heard news of it and gone."

She thought back to what the Wolf had said about the place.

 _Alexandria_.

 _Woodbury_.

Despite the rumours Morgan had heard. . . was there really a difference?

"But why would he go back to Savannah if there _was_ such a place? And on his own?"

"Maybe he left her there an' came back to get more of his people," Morgan suggested, "Wanted to keep them safe too."

"I guess that could be what happened . . . But there's somethin' about that burn that seems . . . _wrong_. And how he refused to talk about it just then . . ."

Morgan eyed her peculiarly. "What're you thinkin', Beth Greene?"

She looked up at him through her lashes and bit her lip.

"Nothing, really . . ." she replied, "It's just . . . This safe zone. Alexandria. It seems a little suspicious to me."

"Why?"

"Like you said, there's a lot of fake ones out there now. My group had our own experience with one back in Georgia. Lots of us died, we lost our home, and now I've lost them too."

"You think Alexandria might be like this one you encountered?"

". . . I'm just saying that we shouldn't rule the possibility out. Things aren't what they seem any more, and people can be selfish. They'll do anything to get what they want, no matter the consequences. Or how many innocent people they kill."

 _I got more people, more firepower. We need this prison. I have a tank. And I'm letting you walk away from here._ _I could shoot you all. You'd all shoot back. I know that. But we'll win and you'll be dead._

 _All of you._

"He didn't get that burn from trippin' over a twig and fallin' into his own campfire," Beth said sternly, "That's for sure."

Morgan shared the somber look.

"We have to be careful about these kinds of places."

"But ain't we marching towards one just like them _now_?" he asked.

 _Richmond, Virginia._

 _We had walls._

"Noah lived there," she scowled faintly, "He wouldn't lie."

"I ain't doubtin' him," he clarified, "But I think _you_ are. Deep down . . . You don't know if this place he talked about is really true . . . Or still standin' either."

 _T'Governor rolled right up to our gates._

"These people won't survive out here," she said, "They need that place . . . _I_ need that place. I need to find my friends."

His expression softened and he sensed the frustration and sorrow emitting from her.

"I don't even know if they're still out there, or if they're still even alive, but this is the only lead I _have_. I have to take it. It's my only shot, it's my only . . . It's all I've _got_."

 _Everyone we know is dead!_

"I need to know," she whispered, "I need to find them . . . Or, at least find out what happened to them. What made them leave me."

"Hey." he said firmly, "We'll find 'em. We will. Don't think like that. You're always sayin' how tough they all are. If they're as tough as you say, they'll be just fine. They're alive."

 _They're alive._

"My daddy was tough and it didn't do anything to help him. Rick is tough but he lost it when Lori died. It doesn't matter how tough you are, it doesn't—"

"Wait. Did you say _Rick_?"

Beth looked up from the ground and furrowed her brow.

Morgan's expression had bled into one of another nature, one more _desperate_ in appearance, and it confused Beth looking at it.

"Yeah," she said, "Rick . . . The leader of our group."

"Rick _Grimes_?"

". . . _Yeah_."

Silence fell and the woods didn't dare speak in that moment.

The air grew heavy and Morgan could only stare at her, the desperation and bundle of other emotions glimmering in his dark eyes.

"How do you know . . . ?"

"Rick Grimes was the name of a man I met right at the beginning of the turn, back in King County. I was wit' my son, he was lookin' for his. He went to Atlanta looking for him and his wife."

"Carl and Lori. He was looking for Carl and Lori Grimes, wasn't he? Those were their names."

"Those were their names." he nodded, "I didn't see him again 'til much later into the turn. By then, I was pretty far gone down crazy lane. He'd found his boy, they found me back in the town an' tried to convince me to come back wit' 'em. The woman that came with 'em ate some of my stash though, then they left me behind again."

Beth gasped loudly and clapped her hands together, startling him as she came to a great comprehension. "You're the man they met on the supply run," she cried, "The one Carl told me about."

"Wait. So, lemme get this straight . . . You were _with_ Rick back then? You were a part of his group?"

She nodded hysterically, her head bobbing up and down like a bobblehead, and a smile threatened to break out across her features.

"Yes!" she said, "And you know Rick Grimes?"

A massive smile had spread all over her face then.

A hopeful one.

A pleading one.

"You do." she pressed, voice shaking and grin borderline massive, "Tell me you know Rick Grimes. Tell me you do . . . _Please_."

He smiled too. A great big smile of utter elation and relief, and then he said it.

"I know Rick Grimes."

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Finally, it comes out! You'd think they would've made the connection way earlier, but I guess in the apocalypse, small talk about your friends isn't really appropriate whilst you're busy surviving. At least they know now though.

As for the pace of the story, the next couple of chapters are going to have less action than usual since they're on the road. It'll be about survival and inner turmoil and we'll get a look into some of the character's thoughts... and demons.

Thank you for reading and don't forget to leave a review with your thoughts or if you have any questions.


	27. Facing our adversaries, inside and out

**Author's Corner**

Yo everyone! How are you all doing? Good I hope! I just wanted to say thanks again for all the wonderful support you give for this story, and I appreciate every review/follow/favourite. Also, I'm warning you now that this is another one of the rare long chapters. And when I say long, I mean _loooong,_ around 8000 words, and that's not even counting this note here. So if you're planning on reading this standing, I highly advise sitting down and getting comfy, because your legs will hurt by the time you get to the end.

Now as for this chapter, I feel like I have to give some kind of warning.

Recently, the pace of the narrative has been relatively laid back and as relaxed as you can get in these kinds of situations, but in this chapter there begins to be a shift. There is some... _dark_ stuff in this chapter, some dark thoughts and feelings, especially concerning past rape and vivid nightmares, so I thought I'd at least give you a warning before you plunge in. But despite all that, there's also something I think you all might like, since a lot of the reviews I get are asking: _Where's Daryl? When's Daryl coming into the story?_

Wait. Sorry, I didn't mean to get you excited there. Daryl isn't in this chapter _either_ , but something happens that pushes the story _closer_ to him, as well as references to other things I think you'll all like. So don't be down if we still haven't seen him.

He'll come, don't worry, but keep in mind that we still have to cover _hundreds_ of miles and travel across the remainder of North Carolina and the whole of Virginia to get to him and the others. But there might be a time jump though which brings them closer sooner. Who knows?

Again thanks for all the amazing support, and rambling aside, I hope you enjoy the lengthy chapter.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD or any of its original characters.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

It was almost insane, this new revelation she'd realised because of Morgan's words, and frankly, she was surprised she hadn't made the connection sooner.

King County.

That old crazy guy.

 _Rick_.

 _He knew Rick Grimes_. He knew him and every time she thought about it, Beth nearly struggled to breathe. Because when she got back to the others, she'd be bringing something else back as well. Another example of what hope could do.

 _When_.

There went the positive pronouns again.

When. Not _if_.

The old Beth was still trying to crawl back in and fill her mind with impossible dreams of summer picnics and happiness. Dreams of Glenn and Maggie having their baby and Daddy getting to be a grandfather . . . Happy. Normally, she would shut her out for trying to fill her mind with such things, but this time . . .

This time, she had been right.

This time.

 _There's still good people._

Not everywhere, and not everyone. But some. There were still some out there, and Morgan just happened to be one who knew Rick.

They'd walked back to the camp, her with an almost-smile tugging at her features, and Morgan with a new sense of direction in his conflicted vision.

 _We're the same, you and me_ , she'd wanted to say. _We were both lost and alone, left by the people we care about. But we get to come back. We get to do that._ _We get to go home._

Effy flashed a smile from where she was sat with Tanaka, and Beth gave a tiny one in return. They skinned the rabbits and roasted them on the fire, and there wasn't an awful lot to go around because of the amount of them . . . but it was okay. It was still okay.

It had to be.

.

.

Dusk rolled around again and the group was plunged into new darkness. Beth was on watch, sat on a log a few feet away from the huddled group members, and had the journal resting on her lap. Eyes trained on the shadows in the trees, she ran her thumb down the tattered spine of the book, rubbing the crumbling edges between her finger pads.

The black elastic holding the covers together was falling off, and the pages were thin and crusty. But she held onto it. Because like Edwards had said—these were stories.

 _Wishes_.

And the old Beth was still clinging onto the shallow belief that writing down wishes would make them come true. She only didn't chase her away because she'd been right for the first time in a long while.

Morgan knew Rick. He knew him, and wanted to find him. He was willing to come back, to _find_ them, just like her.

She'd wished for a sign and she'd got one.

After about an hour of silence and caressing her journal, the sound of feet crunching on leaves quietly began to sound.

A figure was walking up behind her and came to sit on the log beside her.

It was Effy. She sat on Beth's left, a dusty blanket draped around her, and just sat there. Her dark hair was lined with knots and dirt, hanging at the sides of her equally dirty face and down her chest. She stared out into the shadows too, her eyes flickering in the dark, and her expression was oddly neutral. She tilted her head to face Beth eventually and gave a half smile.

"Sorry," she murmured bashfully, stoic expression melting away into her usual open one, "Couldn't sleep."

"It's okay. Why couldn't you?"

"Dreams . . . They're keeping me awake."

". . . The ones about Gorman?"

Effy's eyes darted down and she pulled the blanket closer around her.

"Yeah."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"There's not much to talk about," she admitted, "It's just his face, over and over again . . . Laughing. Forcing me to do . . . things, and I couldn't tell anybody. There was nobody _to_ tell. It's just always the same, always pointless. I'm always trapped."

". . . You're not trapped now."

"Depends on what your definition of being trapped _is_."

Beth leaned her head to the side and squeezed her journal.

Lab rats had to be let out for exercise eventually.

"Back at the hospital," Effy whispered, her voice almost nearly silent, "Gorman . . . Did you know that he died? Long before you got shot and the rotters came. Did you know?"

Did she _know_? Did she know he was dead?

Beth wanted to laugh.

"Effy . . ." she started.

"They found him in the office being torn to pieces by Joan. She'd killed herself and turned. He's dead, he was killed, he, he . . ."

"Effy. _I_ killed him."

Then there was silence.

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance, and the sounds of animals scurrying up the tree trunks sounded throughout the forest. Effy blinked slowly, eyes fixed on Beth in the dark, and she frowned in puzzlement.

"You . . . what?" she asked finally.

Beth bit her lip.

"Noah and I . . ." she started, "We were trying to get out. Trying to escape. But to do that, we needed the key card to the basement door. I snuck into the office to get it . . . but Gorman followed me."

Effy's eyes widened at that. "I saw you walking down the hallway that day, from my room." she breathed, "You were walking to Noah when Dawn stopped you, and you pointed her to her office."

"I had his blood on my shoe. I was worried she might'a noticed. Did you see it?"

She shook her head.

"I was in the office looking for the key card, but when I found it, Gorman came in."

 _So how 'bout it, Bethy_ _?_

 _Are we gonna work something out here?_

"He wanted to . . . 'work something out'. He didn't expect me to fight back. He sure as hell didn't expect me to smash a glass jar over his head when he least expected it. Joan took care of the rest."

Effy's eyes were gigantic by now, and her pupils were blown huge.

"You were trying to get Dawn in there too," she breathed in realisation, "Kill two birds with one stone. You nearly _did_ too, but her officers came in and took care of it before things could go bad for her."

"Allowing me and Noah to make our way out undetected."

She smiled with disbelief. "That's so clever . . ." she beamed, genuinely impressed.

Beth felt her cheeks growing warm.

"But as you know," she adverted the praise, " _I_ didn't get all the way out. They caught me. But at least Noah did."

Noah. The boy who'd smiled at her in the ironing room and saw the tidal wave she was holding back. The one who'd seen her as not weak or scrawny, and proved she hadn't been wrong for holding on for so long. The one who'd made all this possible . . . The goal of Richmond.

 _I'll see you again,_ _Noah._

 _Someday._

"You're out now," Effy pointed out, "We all are. We made it."

 _We_.

 _We_ did.

"Yeah. We did."

Unexpectedly, Effy pushed the blanket off her shoulders then and reached out to suddenly hug Beth. She went still with surprise whilst the girl wound her arms around her neck, and she could feel her smiling against her cheek.

"Thank you for getting rid of him," she whispered, "Thank you for doing what I couldn't have _ever_ done, no matter how brave I got."

Beth did smile then, a tiny helpless smile, and she lightly placed a hand on the center of Effy's back. She rested her chin on her shoulder and pressed the smile to the fabric of her shirt.

"You don't have to thank me for getting rid of a monster," she whispered. "This one was just in disguise and didn't have half his intestines hangin' out like all the other ones."

"I bet he regretted letting Joan 'work something out' with _him_."

Beth couldn't help the small laugh that came out of her mouth at that, and Effy started laughing too against the side of her head.

"He got what he deserved. Even in death, she made sure of that."

Effy pulled away and reached for the blanket, but wrapped it around Beth's shoulders instead of her own. Beth stared at her but she just smiled.

"Don't look so surprised," she giggled, "There are people back there to snuggle into if I get cold. You're over here alone."

Oddly, cold was the last thing Beth was.

"I'd stay, but . . . you look like you want to be alone right now. At least, just for now."

No. Not alone. She wasn't alone. They were all right there across the clearing with her. They were all still here.

They hadn't left.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself and shot Effy a look of gratitude. Gratitude for the blanket, yes, but gratitude for something else as well. Something deeper that she barely even recognised herself.

 _Thank you for not leaving me alone to die._

Effy gave one more dazzling smile before turning and jogging off to where Shepherd slept, and snuggled down next to her. Beth watched her lie herself down and tuck herself into the former officer, and remembered the way she used to cuddle with Lori and Carol and Maggie.

She brought her legs up and pulled them to her chest, the blanket suddenly feeling like a weight on her shoulders. As she did, the journal fell from her lap and landed in the mud, and she picked it up frantically, scraping the clumps of dirt away with her fist. She opened it up into the last third of the pages and let her eyes scoot across some of the scrawly handwriting.

 _I am not alone._

Those four words, scribbled over and over again in crazy, messy scrawls.

Just those words.

 _I am not alone._  
I am not alone.  
IamnotaloneIamnotalone.

 _I AM NOT ALONE._

She remembered writing that, her hand aching from repetition and the pages stained with falling tears.

 _I'm not_ , she'd whispered as she was writing, too quiet for Daryl to hear over his brooding. _It's not just me, I have someone. Even if it's not Daddy or Maggie._ _I have_ some _one._

She flicked forward a few pages, wincing when she sliced her finger along the edge of a page and cut a fine slash into the tip, a bead of dark blood oozing out and blossoming like a flower.

Instead of lifting up her finger and sucking it, she stared at the blood, eyes transfixed on the growing red pearl. Hypnotised.

Blood. Always blood, red, and screams.

A droplet of red slid down to the other side of her finger, wobbling just at the point of falling, and Beth made no attempt to stop it. The drop fell, falling down and hitting the dirt on the ground, making the tiniest splash of a red puddle. More droplets fell after that, an excessive amount falling for just a little paper cut, but somehow it was the little things that hurt the most.

Like candles. Jukeboxes.

Scissors.

It was always the little things that caused the most damage. The most pain.

After watching the blood fall for a while, she brought the fingertip up to her mouth to suck and opened the journal to the last entry. On a new page, she wrote a few short sentences, indicating that she was still alive and that the story still went on.

And then she just couldn't stop writing.

 _— For a moment, I was dead. Not really dead, but for a little while_ _. . ._ _I was something like that._

 _I lost Daryl, got taken by this place. A hospital in Atlanta. It's gone now, thank god. It's well and truly gone, and we're all out on the road again. Everyone from before is gone. I saw them once for the briefest of times—they came to save me from the hospital—but after that_ _. . ._ _Nothing._

 _I woke up in the trunk of a car after the shooting. My shooting. Woke up alone and half dead. I haven't seen any of them since._

 _I think I know where they might go though, since they've got Noah with them. I met him in the hospital. He's from a place in Virginia that's supposed to be safe. A community, with walls and houses. I don't know for sure if that's where they are, or if I'll ever see them again, but I wanna try. I wanna try find them again._

 _The doctor from the hospital told me to write down these things. Edwards, his name is. He told me to write it down. So that's what I'm gonna do. I'm gonna write it down. Because like I wrote somewhere before: You should write down wishes to make them come true. And that's what this is_ _. . . A_ _wish._ _I want to see them again, and I'm willing to walk to the ends of the earth to do that._

 _I want to see Maggie again. Daryl, Rick, and everyone else. I want to hear what Daryl was trying to say that day when it was just the two of us. I want to tell Rick about everything I've done, and how I always tried to do what he would have done. I just want them to know that I don't just die when they're not here protecting me._

 _I'm not finished here yet, and I never will be unless I find them again and make them know that. —_

She closed the book.

Not finished yet at all.

.

.

"We need to leave."

Lilly could hear Beth's firm statement to Dwight from where she was sat.

She eyed his sour expression and chewed on the inside of her cheek, sensing another argument between the two coming.

"Now now, blondie." he tutted in response, and Lilly could practically _feel_ the silent rage emitting from Beth's body.

Didn't he know how much she clearly hated being called that?

"People are tired. We've been walkin' for miles, we just lost Sally, Lisa's _pregnant_ for fuck's sake. We need to rest."

"We've rested long enough. We need to get out of here and keep going." she shot back, keeping her voice to a minimum to avoid causing a scene, "Things aren't gonna get any better the longer you choose to wait around here, and your chances of keepin' everybody alive aren't gettin' any higher."

Lilly sensed that Beth wasn't usually an aggressive person, as she sat stroking a sleeping Gregg's hair, but she could be when she needed to be.

Despite Dwight's completely valid reasoning for staying put, Lilly felt torn. Everyone was tired and needed the rest like he'd said, but it was also _more_ of a risk to stay in one place for so long. Like Beth was saying, the longer they sat here like ducks . . . the more chance of what happened to Sally happening to _all_ of them.

"How is gettin' up now an' goin' gonna do any better?" Dwight hissed, "Virginia's border itself is literally a whole fuckin' state away, we ain't gonna get there overnight. And when we get there, there's still _more_ walkin' to find this sanctuary in Richmond!"

"Well, we're not getting any closer sitting around _here_."

Carefully passing Gregg to Alice, Lilly rose to her feet and dusted off her backside, before walking over to the two squabbling individuals. They ceased their feuding when she came up beside them, and each bit down on their tongues.

She folded her arms.

"What's going on?"

"Blondie here wants us to get up and go, but I've tried explainin' that we ain't in any fit shape to do that," Dwight growled.

"And _I'm_ trying to tell him that the longer we sit out here, the more chance we have of getting screwed over." was Beth's contribution.

They shot one another a glare, and Lilly held in a sigh.

It was like dealing with brattish children.

"What'd' _you_ think, huh, Lilly?" he asked, causing her to unfold her arms, "What'd you think we should do?"

"Why don't we take a vote or something?" she suggested.

Beth's eyes dimmed and her mouth tightened.

"This isn't a democracy anymore." she said gravely.

A chill ran down Lilly's spine at those words, and for a second she thought of how Brian's ideas had been nearly exactly the same.

No. Brian . . . _The Governor_ was gone. He was dead. The woman with the katana back at the prison had made sure of that, and then, so had _she_ , with that one echoing bullet.

"You're right," Dwight said, "It ain't. _I_ make the decisions around here, an' I say we should stay."

Beth's eyes narrowed and she pursed her lips. The scars on her cheek and brow sharpened with the tightening of her muscles and made them look like angry demons crawling across her face. What had happened to the soft facade of the girl singing a goodnight lullaby to Sally? Who was this _new_ girl in her place, mouth in a frown and her eyes blazing with defiance?

Beth shook her head slowly and turned to walk away.

"You're gonna get all these people killed." she said quietly before she walked off, and Lilly shivered at the comment.

Because the scariest thing was . . .

She was right.

.

.

Beth sat beneath a tree on the edge of the camp, running the bolt between her fingers with her head pressed back against the bark. It was dark and the stars were out, clusters of a million lights tossed out across the sky like glitter.

Her eyes followed a busy trail and saw that the moon was visible tonight. The last time she'd seen a full moon had been on the road with Daryl, and seeing this one now did little to help her distinguish how much time had passed since then.

She'd lost track of the days long ago, the second the katana's blade had sliced her daddy's neck.

The constantly changing moons she saw above the trees as she sat by the dying campfires each night alone with Daryl confirmed that months were passing, but that didn't seem to mean anything to Beth anymore.

Time passed. Seconds ticked by. Hours. Days. And suddenly the makeshift calendar she'd made back at the prison to mark those passing days seemed like a waste.

She didn't know how long they'd been out there, or how long she'd been ensnared in the hospital. She didn't know how long they'd been out here _now_. The only guess she had was . . . a while.

 _It's just been a while._

Adding a mark every day for the tally just seemed like a waste of a flick of her wrist, and every moon counted seemed like a waste of eyesight and concentration. Because in the end, it didn't matter how many days rolled by, or how many full moons shone in the sky . . .

Things were never going back to the way they used to be.

Things like that didn't matter anymore, and they sure as hell shouldn't _bother_ her.

But still. _Still_ _. . ._ She charted this one full moon down in her journal. Thirty days they'd gone without an accident before Zach bit the dust on that supply run. Another month she'd gone _without_ doing the same.

Movement in the camp alerted her attention to a shifting figure, who Beth saw haul herself up sluggishly and hurriedly rush over to the bushes nearby. The swollen abdomen and knotty hanging hair identified the figure as Lisa, and Beth was about to dismiss the woman's behaviour as merely a bladder break before the retching sounds erupted from where she'd jogged to.

Tucking her journal into its space in her back jean pocket, Beth rose and wandered over to where Lisa was bending in the shrubbery, shoulders hunched and coughing vomit echoes.

Crouching behind her, crunching a few dry leaves to make her aware of her presence, Beth planted a palm on the center of Lisa's back and rubbed it gently. She coughed up a few more mouthfuls of bile before sitting up straight. She gave a shuddery sigh and wiped some of the residues from her mouth.

Beth ran her hand up and down the woman's back once more and squeezed her shoulder.

"Morning sickness isn't the best thing to have in the apocalypse, huh?" Lisa half laughed, her throat dry and voice gritty-sounding.

"You're not the only one to have it," Beth remarked.

Lisa cast her eyes to Beth and flashed a weak smile. "No?" she asked.

Beth realised the implication instantly.

"Not me," she clarified, "Someone I knew. She had a baby during all this too, and she spent the most part of her pregnancy on the road just like you."

"What happened? When the baby was due . . . Did it make it?"

A lump formed in Beth's throat.

". . . Yeah, yeah, it did. It was a little girl. I looked after her a lot, back when I was still with them . . . She might even still be alive today."

"And what about the mother?"

The lump grew, almost choking her.

"How about we get you back to your sleepin' position?" she said abruptly, changing the subject and helping the wobbling woman to her feet. Lisa noticed the swerved question but let it drop, and the lump in Beth's throat tripled as she led Lisa over to her place beside the sleeping Mark.

She laid her down beside him and tucked the ratty blanket around her, wrapping her up like her mama used to her.

Lisa's eyes studied her intently, surrounded by dark circles and lines of fatigue, and a flicker of sadness shone up at her. Something reacting inside because of that look, Beth pushed several knotty strands of hair out of Lisa's face and stroked her cheek.

"It's not gonna be like that this time," she whispered, swallowing the lump, "It's not. Okay?"

Lisa smiled again, the sadness still glimmering quietly in her eyes, and she nodded. Removing her hand from the woman's cheek, Beth stood up again and went back to her spot beneath the tree. She pulled her knees up to her chest and nestled herself up into a tiny ball, feeling unnaturally small, and rested her chin on top of her knees.

She closed her eyes and slept.

.

.

 _A gurgle_.

Opening her eyes leisurely, Beth blinked away the fuzziness over her irises and groaned drowsily. Draping an arm across her face, she shifted her leg and kicked back a heavy blanket, it dropping to the floor with a quiet thump. The bed she was in was hard and smelled like it hadn't been washed in years, and an awful scent of blood and decay filled her nostrils as she lay there. Pushing herself up by her elbows, Beth blinked again and waited for her vision to adjust.

Once they had, they were greeted by messy drawings and art crafts pinned up on the wall on the inside of her bunk, and the huge ladybug picture that Mika had drawn for her was staring at her with huge, beady eyes.

Hauling her legs over the edge of the bed and into her flimsy sleep flip-flops, she sat up from the bed and stood.

The blanket hanging covering the cell door was worn with holes in it, and evidence of Judith's spew was obvious on certain areas. The baby's tiny shoes on the floor of her cell and the plastic cups she liked to play with had been left abandoned, one of the cups cracked in half and laying broken.

Beth leaned down to pick it up and put it on the side, eyes briefly wandering to the _Days Without an Accident_ sign by the opposite wall.

The number count read eight.

Eight days without an accident.

She walked over to the billboard and ghosted her finger down the faded number card. As she did, a sound echoed from outside the cell and filled her ringing suddenly ears . . .

A gurgle. Clear as day, loud and crisp.

A baby's gurgle.

"Judy?" she called, walking away from the _Days Without an Accident_ sign and pushing the hanging blanket away with her hand.

The prison halls were empty, the scent of death and decay even stronger with the blanket pushed aside, but Beth chose to ignore it as she stepped out. Dusty yellow light poured in through the opaque prison windows, breaking into vertical columns through the bars. Shadows were cast from open cell doors and the rusty railing, and Beth wandered along the corridor silently, following the distant gurgles and giggles.

Glancing in every few open cells she passed, she picked up on little discrete details that didn't make much sense to her.

Candles. A few small candles in every cell, lit and glowing in the dim rooms, with no one there to attend to them.

The flames danced tauntingly, shadows stretching up along the walls and painting dark orange shapes along the walls.

Monsters, dancing in the dark.

"Judy?" she called again, catching the baby sounds again and increasing her walking pace as she reached a corner in the corridor.

There she was.

 _Judith_ , scurrying along the prison floor on her hands and knees, crawling around another corner and apparently oblivious to Beth's voice.

"Judy!"

Walk turning into more of a jog, Beth bounded down the hallway with her hands swinging at her sides, ponytail bouncing as she turned the corner the baby just had.

But now Judith was nowhere in sight.

Stopping in confusion, Beth furrowed her brows and looked around in the open cells nearby, just in case the baby had crawled into one of them. They were all empty, all apart from a few flickering candles, and all trace of Judith had disappeared.

All except the noises she was making.

Following the growing gurgles, Beth jogged down the corridor and turned another corner, eyes searching for the elusive baby and checking inside every cell. Eventually, she spotted her at the top of a flight of stairs, sat on the top step playing with a plastic cup and laughing hysterically like it was some kind of brilliant joke. Running through the underpass and reaching the bottom of the stairs, Beth froze in shock to find that Judith was no longer in that position. Climbing the steps slowly, she picked up the fallen plastic cup on the top step and stared at it.

There was a candle inside, a tiny flame glowing in the confines of the red plastic, and it was hot to the touch.

When she dropped it, it rolled down the steps and fell in a crumpled crush at the bottom, and Beth's heart stopped.

The baby carrier sat just by the fallen cup, facing away from Beth, and it loomed eerily in the otherwise empty prison hall.

Feet carrying her back down the steps cautiously, Beth came up behind the carrier, eyes glued to her sides and lips slightly parted. She lowered to a crouching position and slowly turned the carrier around to study its contents, and as she did . . . she fell backward in sickening alarm.

A _creature_ shot up from the baby carrier, pupils painted white and jaws snapping.

It resembled something similar to a baby—tiny limbs and Judith's yellow ducky apron, but this monstrosity could in no reality be little Judith.

Beth screamed and fell back onto the cup, snapping the candle with her weight and extinguishing the small flame. The baby walker hauled itself out of the carrier and scuttled after her, malevolent eyes massive and teeth rotten and blackened. With a blood-curdling screech, it made a lunge for her stomach, but Beth kicked it back, sending her furry flip-flip flying with it.

The creature hit the floor with a bone-crunching _crack!_ and Beth's heart cried out at the spectacle. It didn't finish the thing off, however, because it got right back up and crawled after her, snarling like a rabid dog. Her back collided with the bottom step and she pushed herself up quickly, whining in distress and unable to tear her eyes away from the walker baby's devilish ones.

Vomit-like liquid oozed from the side of the creature's mouth, dripping onto the floor as it cried hungrily.

" _No_!" Beth screamed when it caught her foot, kicking it back again, and again as it kept coming back.

 _This thing was not Judy_.

 _It wasn't Judy_ _. . ._ _It wasn't Judy_ _. . ._

Shifting further up the steps in her attempt to get away from the walker, Beth's arm brushed a bulky item during her floundering.

She glanced down and saw that it was a gun. A Colt Python .357, exactly like the one Rick used.

The walker baby made a shrill squawking noise and Beth picked the weapon up. She gripped its handle with both hands and held it in front of her at the creature, whimpering as it tried to pull itself up the steps after her. It laid forward with its chin pushed into the hard concrete of the first step, throat emitting harsh growling squeaks, and drool was dripping all down its chin and onto the floor.

It stared up at her with those glazed over white eyes, seemingly waiting, and Beth felt tears welling up in her eyes and threatening to choke her.

 _It's not Judy._

 _It's not._

Her finger touching the trigger, her hold shaky, she swallowed tightly and released a long pained moan. Tears leaking down her throat and something else that tasted like salt and copper, Beth sobbed helplessly and aimed the barrel of the gun right at the creature . . . and pulled the trigger.

The _bang!_ echoed out through the prison halls like the release of a firework, and the gun fell from Beth's hands as the walker slumped down and fell in a broken crumple on the ground, a hole torn through the middle of its head, leaking litres thick, black blood.

She fell back on the steps and knocked her head on the concrete mercilessly, tears and snot dribbling down her face and choking her.

Droplets of something else fell from the ceiling, hitting her cheeks and neck with heady splashes. _Blood_ rained down from the sky and filled her lungs, choking her until she could barely breathe, and she coughed up a mouthful of chunky red. When she re-opened her eyes, she was alone in the dark again, the sounds of muffled walker groans penetrating the confines of the closed space. The blood oozed out from the hole in her _own_ head, painting her cheeks and lips a fine red, and the darkness of the trunk swallowed her whole. The shadows crawled into her mouth like the soil of a grave, and she choked on the horror of her own end . . . and everyone else's that they'd lost along the way that was leading up to that moment.

 _You said you wanted to go, end it all, Maggie and you. Leave the world behind to burn whilst you slept in the heavens with everyone you loved that was gone._

 _You got what you wanted, so why are you still screaming? Always screaming, Always crying. Forget how you're still alive, why are you even trying?_

 _You got what you wanted._

.

.

Beth woke up with a strangled sob and hit her head against the bark of the tree. Breathing erratically, she shifted in her sitting position and squeezed her hands into fists and pulled up handfuls of grass and mud. She lowered her legs so that they were stretched out in front of her, boots caked in mud.

 _Not blood_.

Her body was coated with a thick layer of cold sweat and she sucked in deep, thirsty breaths, before leaning her head back against the wood and whimpering as the aftershocks of the nightmare tore through her.

 _Breathe_ , Daryl's voice spoke quietly in her ear. _Breathe, girl. S'just a dream. You're alright. You're all right, Beth._

 _Breathe._

Swallowing slow, deep breaths, Beth managed to take the Daryl in her mind's words and somewhat calm the frantic beating of her heart, and soothe her violent trembling. Her skin was still laced with sweat, but she wasn't covered in any blood or gore.

 _S'just a dream. Just a dream. You're alright, Greene, you're al_ _l right_ _._

 _You're safe._

Suppressing a whimper, she steadied herself and tried to keep as quiet as possible to avoid waking the others.

She was alright. She was alright.

She didn't want to close her eyes again though.

"Beth?"

When she recovered from the slight jump she experienced at the voice and followed to its source . . . she wanted to cry even more.

Dwight sat on a log several feet from her perch beneath the tree, fiddling with his crossbow with an unlit cigarette held between his lips.

The moonlight caught the leather of his jacket and gave it a slight glow, and the positioning of his sitting concealed the burned side of his face from her view. His scruff was messy and his hair hung in his eyes, and his shoulders were hunched over lazily, but at the same time still so tense.

It was more than easy to imagine him as another certain individual.

She tore her gaze away and stared down at the dirt between her legs.

"Y'ok, blondie?" he asked after a while, the question quiet and lacking that usual scornful tone of mockery he had with her.

 _You're al_ _l right._

Eyes still fixed on the dirt, she fastened her fingers together and opened her mouth to answer, but only a shaky sigh came out.

 _I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm OKAY._

"Beth?"

She did close her eyes then, and her shoulders tightened as she heard Dwight laying down his crossbow and shifting from his seat on the log. She felt him crouch by her left leg, the smell of smoke and sweat filling the air.

He called her name again, the sound distant and blocked by white noise, and the pounding in Beth's head was back again.

"What's wrong?" he asked, moving closer, and she wanted to lash out and scream at him for doing so.

 _You're alright, Greene. You're a_ _l_ _l_ _right._

"Beth . . . ? _Talk_ t'me."

 _You're al_ _l r_ _ight._

"You're wrong!"

Dwight was confused and startled by her sudden outburst, and when she opened her eyes and glared at him with full ferocity, he was even more so.

"What?" he stuttered with a frown.

"You're _wrong_!" she whined painfully, fists balled and punching the ground, "You said that and you were wrong. You _lied_ to me. You said . . . You said things would be okay but they aren't. Things will never be okay. _I'll_ never be okay!"

"Woah, calm down, what're you talkin' about?"

She struck her fist forward towards Dwight's face but he caught it.

She ranted some more, the word _liar_ rolling off her tongue like a curse.

 _Liar liar liar_ , over and over.

He caught her other fist that she threw and held them both in front of him before she eventually opened her eyes and flashed him the building frustrated tears.

 _All you ever do is cry, Bethy,_ Gorman laughed _. It's all you ever do. All you_ can _do._

Stilling her thrashing, Dwight didn't release her fists from his grip, and her lower lip wobbled under the force of his gaze.

 _Beth?_

 _Hey._

 _Beth?_

She released a breathless snivel and shook her head, knuckles unclenching and lowering in Dwight's. She stared at him with glassy eyes, the scars torn across her face looking less feral and more . . . defeated.

Lost.

Alone.

No different to that one-eyed dog.

"He lied to me . . ." she whispered, "He said all that and he lied, he . . . He . . ."

" _Who_ lied?"

She shook her head again and blinked the rising tears away, her lashes wet and her lips still trembling.

". . . It's not okay." she breathed, and Dwight didn't try to say otherwise because he knew she was right.

A silence fell for a few minutes, or hours, or maybe even days.

Beth sat with her head resting against the tree, and Dwight stayed crouched by her side with her fists caught in his large dirty hands. Finally, he released her hands, letting them drop to rest on her thighs, but he didn't go back to his original position on the log.

He shifted quite clumsily to sit against the tree next to her, drawing his knees up to his chest and just sitting there.

The smell of smoke, sweat, and just general _man_ flooded her senses and made her wince. Their shoulders were brushing and Beth was glad for the long sleeves of her plaid, because he would've been able to feel the rising goosebumps with flesh-to-flesh contact. She kept her eyes directed down at her hands in her lap and didn't say anything, but neither did he.

The sound of Judith's light giggles rung in her ears so strongly the sounds almost seemed real, and she bit down on her tongue to avoid releasing another pained cry.

"What ya said today," he said gruffly, breaking through those awful thoughts, "About me getting' everyone killed . . . How are ya so sure?"

Her lips trembled.

". . . Because I know what happens when you sit around catching your breath for too long," she replied.

"Why are we safer walkin' than sittin' though?"

"When you're walkin', you don't have as many thoughts and memories eatin' away at you to get you distracted. You don't have _time_ to sit and soak in the misery."

"I think _you_ do that either way."

She sniffed and glanced across at him.

"What d'you mean by _that_?" she asked harshly, brows creased and lips pressed into a tired frown.

"You got a _lot_ o' stuff eatin' at ya all the time," he answered, "Can see it in everythin' ya say, like what ya said about me getting' everyone killed. You say those things 'cause ya _mean_ 'em, and there's reasons for that."

She didn't reply, just sat there, head tilted down and eyes fixed on her twisting fingers.

Dwight's brows wrinkled downward and he rested his arm on his knee.

"What happened to you?"

She tightened her mouth and squeezed the fabric of her shirt, before breathing a hopeless answer.

"Shit," she said, " _Shit_ happened . . . I was with a bigger group before I met Edwards and everyone. There used to be more of us, but we lost a lot along the way. Eventually, I got separated from them, taken and holed up in a hospital in Atlanta. That's where I met the people you found me with. The others found me a little while later, but when they did . . . I was _stupid_."

Her voice rose like a musical note at that last word, and her eyes darted up to the bandage covering her head.

Dwight's eyes did the same.

"Matty says ya got a bullet scar underneath that cloth," he said, "That when you got it?"

She nodded, "Yeah. I was nearly outta there, back with my group and everything, but Dawn―the woman in charge of the place―she asked for Noah back. He's the boy who told me about Richmond . . . She wanted him back in exchange because I was gettin' out, and he was gonna go back to avoid trouble. When I saw him giving up like that I just kind of . . . snapped . . . She had a gun, I had a tiny pair of scissors . . . You can figure out the rest."

"An' yer group? What about them? Where'd they go?"

"I don't know," she admitted with a wobbly smile, "I don't know. But Richmond is my best bet."

 _My best bet? It's all I've_ got _. It's all_ _. . ._

And the apprehension settled in.

"They think I'm dead."

"Ya don't know that,"

She shook her head. "No . . . I _do_. That's why they left me behind. That's why they _abandoned_ me and never came back. You can't abandon someone you don't think is alive, because they're just dead."

 _Just dead._

 _Just dead and gone._

"Then why're you still lookin' for 'em? If they left ya behind an' dismissed ya as dead . . . If they don't _care_ anymore, why are you still lookin'?"

She laughed, but no trace of glee or hilarity was in that dry laugh.

"Because _I_ care." she whispered, " _I_ still care about them, and that's all the motivation I need . . . If that brought them back to me once, it can do it again."

 _And you owe me an apology, Daryl Dixon. An apology for all those lies you told me._

 _I wanna know why you said them, and what you thought you'd_ get _from telling them._

 _I want an_ explanation.

Dwight sat back against the tree and let off a low hum from the back of his throat. "Well, I guess if that's what ya think it takes . . . It can bring Sherry back to _me_."

"Who's Sherry?"

He looked uncomfortable then and fidgeted slightly.

"My wife," he mumbled, "The woman Morgan saw me leavin' Savannah with. I lost her just south of D.C."

"What were you doing all the way up there?"

"Same thing you're doin' by goin' up to Richmond. Lookin' for a safer place. There was s'posed to be one up there."

"Alexandria?" she asked, recalling what Morgan had said to her about the sanctuary up north.

"Yeah. The place we was in at Savannah, Crawford it was called . . . t'place was strict, had all these dumb fuckin' rules an' expectations. None of us felt safe anymore, so me an' Sherry backpacked up all the way to the top o' the north Virginian border to find this rumoured safe zone."

"And did you? Did you find it?"

His expression fell solemn and his eyes darkened.

"Found somethin' _else_ some ways before it. Another group o' survivors. The bad kind. They called themselves the _Saviors_. Fuckin' joke, that name is, if ya ask me."

An owl hooted somewhere in the distance.

"What happened?" Beth asked, all thoughts of the nightmare gone.

"The fucker in charge, he had this little harem of women goin' on. Had about seven fuckin' wives, and each one of 'em hated him. He let us into their group, but on one condition . . . Sherry had to _join_ that fuckin' harem."

"He _raped_ her?"

" _He_ thought he didn't. She didn't wanna, but she let him fuck good 'cause it was what she said was best for us. Everythin' was as fine as it could'a been, considering . . . 'til he caught her sneakin' back to me one night."

He tilted the burned side of his face towards her, the charred flesh crawling with shadows, and Beth shivered.

She'd known there was something more behind that scar. Something darker. Every scar holds a story – a secret. But the thing is . . . they're _dark_ secrets, and they hurt. Not physically anymore, but the memory does.

Scars were born from physical pain, but the ache of the memory ensured that they stayed and never left.

"He did that to you," she said rather than asked, and his eyes blazed in answer, "How did he . . . ?"

"Clothing iron."

"Oh god. For finding you sleeping with your _own wife_?"

"She wasn't _my_ wife anymore."

"Why did you stay? Why didn't you get out of there? Why didn't you both just leave?"

His eye flickered with some unknown emotion, one that almost looked like _fear_.

Like this man was something to fear.

"'Cause if you cross _Negan_. . ." he said quietly, "He finds a way of makin' you pay in the worst kinds of ways."

Beth bit her lip.

"You're out now though," she said, "How'd you manage it?"

The fear fled his features and he straightened against the tree. "I promised Sherry I'd go back to Savannah an' get help, that I'd come back for her. As for the escape, an' ensurin' none of 'em came after me . . . Fakin' my death wasn't so hard. Gives me the element of surprise when I see 'em again. When I see _Sher_ again."

"You faked your own death?"

"Yep. I 'got lost' in a herd of walkers an' never showed up again. Left some o' my bolts and ammo as evidence. No one came lookin' for me."

". . . I guess we have more in common than I thought," Beth said with traces of a smile, and Dwight stared at her with drawn down brows.

"You don't seem in much of a rush to get to your wife though," she remarked, "You're takin' your time and delaying going north as much as possible. Why?"

He looked down, and there it was, detectable even in the dark of night.

 _Shame_ , lambent in his eyes like embers.

"I had the part about goin' back to Savannah an' getting our people out all planned . . . The thing I don' have though is how I'm gonna get _her_ back."

The indignity in his eyes was wearing on Beth, and despite the way he'd treated her and made her feel like crap . . . She didn't want to see his wife held a product of lust by some jerk with a harem fetish, whilst Dwight wallowed in his misery and let her go.

No one deserved that, no matter what they'd had to do to survive.

No one.

 _No more leaving people behind._

"Listen . . ." she said, staring at him intently, "I have an idea. If my group are up north like I think they are, and you come with us and we find them . . . We'll help you get her back."

He looked at her like she was insane.

"Your people ain't gonna wanna piss off Negan," he said firmly.

"There's a lot of us," she said, "And just one of him. He may have lapdogs running around doing his bidding, but he's still just _one_ , behind masses. You take him down . . . and then they're all just useless sheep."

"Ya don't know what you'd be getting' into, blondie."

"We've faced worse."

He shook his head, "Ain't possible to have faced worse than _him_."

"We had The Governor roll up to our gates with an army of people and a loaded tank. He had a whole town full of people who were blind to his true colours, following him like he was some kind of Messiah. We _liberated_ them and sent him packing. He may have split us all up by invading our home that day, and broke a part of our spirits, but he didn't win. And now he's dead."

 _He's dead._

 _He's gone._

 _Finally._

"We can face whatever this Negan and his minions have to throw at us."

Dwight went quiet, seeming to regard what she was saying, and plucked at the leather on his jacket. She wondered if he was remembering what she'd asked him about keeping everyone alive, and if he was asking that same question himself.

Would this keep Sherry alive?

Would this save her?

The likability was higher than doing nothing at all.

". . . You don't wanna be goin' into other people's territories and declaring war without knowin' what you're getting' yourself into."

"We've been at war since the start."

He stared at her, eyebrows tight and eyes darting between her and his crossbow over by the log.

 _Does it keep people alive?_

 _Is it worth the risk?_

 _You know it is, Dwight. You're just afraid to admit it._

 _Don't be afraid._

"Yer group . . ." he said, "They'd do it? They'd fight him?"

"My group would do what's right. If they see the evil behind the power, they'll stand and fight. We haven't gotten this far without doing certain things to make it. We're survivors, so that also means we're _soldiers_. We've come out of battle unscathed more times than I can count, and we're still here. Not all of us, but enough. Enough to fight more battles."

"These people sound more dangerous than Negan an' his men."

"Maybe they are. But for you, that's good. It means we can _win_. So will you help me find them or not?"

The muscles on the burned part of his face twitched, the exposed eyeball rolling with his thoughts, and he strummed his fingers against his knee. He eventually looked back on her, his right cheekbone cast in shadow, and from that look alone, Beth knew his answer.

Call on your soldiers for battle and fight, then get up and go to war.

"Let's go find those fuckers."

.

.


	28. The distance

**RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

It rained a lot in that week they were walking.

Late autumn rain. Thick, heavy droplets pouring down from the pale grey watercolour clouds that soaked Beth and the rest of the group to the bone. With their clothes dripping wet and rain running down their hair and cheeks, they ran along the gravel roads until they came to a wooden house.

Dwight and Mark did a quick sweep of the place, checking for walkers, and eventually hollered for the rest to come into the dry once they had finished searching. The others ventured inside the house and settled down, and Matty and Morgan set a fire going and placed Lisa next to it.

Beth stayed on the front porch. She watched the group darting about like fussing hens and saw how they all reached for coats and blankets they found inside the house. She stood in the doorway with her boots caked with soggy mud, damp cheeks stained pink from running, and her hair plastered to her face and neck. Her plaid shirt clung to her arms like a second skin, dripping rain onto the floorboards of the porch, and she lifted her hands to rub some warmth into her forearms.

Probably wondering why she wouldn't come in, Morgan stood up from his place with Matty and Lisa and made his way over to her.

"Not comin' in?" he asked when he reached her.

Her gaze drifted down and she blinked, eyelashes glistening with tiny rain droplets.

"Someone should keep watch," she said finally, "Sit out front, make sure no trouble comes our way."

"Don't have to be you."

"No, I . . . It's okay. I don't mind."

"Well, ya should at least come inside and dry off a bit first, you're soaked to the skin. You'll catch your _death_ out there."

She winced at his phrasing.

Squeezing the ends of her dripping sleeves and shaking sloshing water from her tattered cast, she swallowed her discomfort and forced a genuine expression.

"When we were out on the road," she started, "The winter before the last, my group and I . . . Rick always stayed out to keep watch. Even when we found houses, shacks, or cars, he _always_ stayed out on watch. Always on the lookout. Always protectin' us."

 _No one can protect us._

 _He_ could.

"You don't have to make sacrifices like that to protect us," was Morgan's reply, "We're in this thing _together_. We look out for each other, an' you don't have to sit outside on a rainy porch to carry your weight. You've carried it enough already."

Beth let her head fall down to the side to rest on her shoulder, and her eyebrows furrowed with a glimmer of sadness.

Loneliness.

"If Rick thought like that . . . then we'd all be dead," she whispered, and a cold wind ghosted the back of her thighs from the outside.

Morgan stared at her for a while, dark eyes flickering with concern before he reached across and scooped up a large quilt in his arms. Striding forward, he wrapped the heavy blanket around Beth's shoulders, enveloping her in the stale smelling softness of quilt.

She stared at him with surprise bleeding into her features, eyes wide and glassy.

He pulled the quilt around her tightly and she brought her hands up to hold it in place, stilling when Morgan's hand pressed onto her shoulder through the blanket. He gave a small smile and a squeeze of his hand before withdrawing it, and wiped a smear of mud from her cheek with his sleeve.

"Don't stay out in the cold too long," he said eventually, "Ok?"

She nodded and turned to make her leave out onto the covered porch.

Outside, she saw that the floorboards their boots hadn't trampled over were relatively dry, so she sat down against the wooden railing and pulled the large quilt tighter around her.

The rain fell from the sky in fountains, moisture coating the air and giving it a fresh, icy quality. Beth watched the jets of water shooting downward and hitting the ground, and watched as they hit the wooden steps outside with quick, violent splatters.

 _I'm falling too_ , she thought as the rain fell. _I'm falling_ _and I'll eventually hit the ground and shatter into a million tiny_ _drops of water._

 _Maybe I'll never hit the ground. Maybe I'll just keep falling._

 _Maybe I've been falling since the start._

The pitter-patter of rain filling the what would be if otherwise silence, Beth glanced across from the droplets hitting the wood of the steps and allowed her gaze to fall upon the empty spot on the porch opposite her.

She tapped her foot against a rotting board of wood and leaned her head back against the railing, eyes fixed on that simple, empty space there . . .

He'd asked her to keep on reminding him. He'd forgotten to mention who was going to be reminding _her_.

" _We'll drink up our grief_ _. . ._

 _And pine for summer_."

 _You can't rely on anyone for anything_.

Not when it came to waiting for someone to catch you before you fell.

" _And we'll buy a beer to shotgun,_  
 _And we'll lay in the lawn_ _. . ._ "

 _And we'll be good_.

It felt like she'd been humming that same tune for a long time when the sound of footsteps came approaching from inside the house, and she looked up to see Shepherd standing in the doorway.

She had two cups of steaming liquid in her hands and was leaning against the doorframe. "Hey," she nodded with a faint smile, and Beth instinctively brought her knees up to her chest.

"Hey." she whispered back.

"Mind if I sit?"

She shook her head.

Shepherd strode out from the doorway and planted herself down at Beth's right, just by the wall. She held the two cups in her hands and offered one to Beth, who took it carefully and curled her freezing palms around it. Taking a sip of her own, Shepherd held the mug on top of her lap and stared out at the gradually thinning rain.

"You cold?" she asked, and Beth shrugged.

"Got this massive quilt that Morgan gave me," she replied self-consciously, watching the smoke from the drink rise up and evaporate into the soggy air.

"Doesn't necessarily mean you're warm enough though."

She did manage a smile then, a tiny one, and she flashed it at Shepherd.

"I'm _fine_ ," she said with that small smile tugging at her lips, "I am."

"If you say so then."

Beth lifted the cup and took a sip from it, almost sighing in bliss at the warm sensation of hot liquid running down her tongue. It tasted something like old coffee or cocoa, only far too watery and weak. She wasn't really complaining about it though. Taking another larger gulp, she settled her posture and slumped back against the wooden railing, eyes drifting closed for just a moment.

"I heard what you said to Morgan a little while ago," Shepherd spoke again suddenly, "About that man, Rick. Him staying out on watch to protect you . . . It made me think."

"Yeah?" Beth muttered, eyes gliding back open, "What about?"

"I dunno. Everything really. I was thinking about that day at the hospital, the day of the trade. When Lamson, Licari and I were captured by some of the people in your group. I was thinking about how I _met_ Rick Grimes. How he didn't seem at all like the man you make him out to be."

"He didn't?"

"Not exactly the type of guy I'd expect to see taking care of a whole group of every kind of people like you said. Kids. Babies . . . He just didn't seem like that."

"Why not?"

Shepherd's brow furrowed and she stared down into her mug, the muscles in her forehead and cheeks creasing with thought.

"When Lamson made a run for it to escape," she said, "He chased after him. He didn't tell us the details of what happened, but when he came back . . . Lamson wasn't with him. He was dead . . . because Rick had killed him."

"Why did he do that?" Beth asked with a slight frown, "There must have been a reason."

Shepherd gave a helpless shrug and shook her head.

". . . He said he wouldn't stop running."

"But you and Licari said at the exchange that _walkers_ got Lamson. Not Rick. You said they'd got him and there was nothing any of you could've done. Why wouldn't you say anything back there? Why did you lie to Dawn?"

"Because he told us to. He wanted you and your friend back, and believe me, he was willing to go to _any_ lengths to get you both back."

Beth's expression softened, but an element of sadness was there in that softness.

 _Any lengths, huh?_

 _Any lengths except coming back for me._

"See?" she pressed, pushing that voice to the back of her head, "He tried. He tried to save me. So how do you not see how hard he tries to protect us?"

"There's trying, Beth . . . and there's _failing_. They're very different things, only you can easily fail when you're trying to do something. You can try to protect the people you care about, but it's so easy to fail them. So easy for them to just slip away."

"But at least you _tried_. That's all you _can_ do now, the only way you have a chance of _not_ failing."

Shepherd looked up from her cup and gave Beth a long, serious look. Beth felt stinging in her forehead and squeezed her mug.

The only sound for a while was the sound of the rain.

"Beth . . ." Shepherd whispered eventually.

She looked up from her mug.

"What are we going to do when we find your friends?" she asked cautiously, ". . . What are we going to do if we _don't_?"

 _We've been running for so long without anything. We've been running and there's been nothing, so what if we end up never finding them?_

 _What if they've already been falling for too long?_

"We don't think about that," Beth answered.

 _What if they've already hit the ground?_

"We do our best to find them first. We _try_. And _then_ we get to think about that."

Sometimes the evidence of a rainfall was almost invisible the day after. Sometimes it was impossible to see traces of the raindrops or notice the clusters of shining dew on the leaves. Sometimes there was nothing that remained. Just nothing.

Beth shook her head and her voice rose a shaky tenor halfway through the sentence, "We _have_ to at least try."

 _Because if we don't_ _. . ._ _what have we become?_

.

.

When the sun came up the next day, Beth took Dwight, Morgan, Shepherd, and Mark out into the woods with her. They left the rest of the group in the house as they went out to hunt and forage.

Out in the trees, Beth spotted a trail of small marks in the mud and followed it. Paw marks—hind legs larger than the front—suggesting a rabbit or some other furry along those same lines. They followed the trail until they came to a break in the trees where a small wilted meadow was situated. Beth walked out amongst the dusty old flowers, petals brown and crusted in the changing season, and the blades of grass hung pathetically slanted like defeated soldiers. She wandered into the clearing, boots crunching over fallen flowers, and her nostrils flared at the decaying smells of broken nature.

As she was walking, the toe of her right boot connected with something, and an obscure object hidden in the leaves snapped shut with a loud _clang!_ luckily just after she'd jolted her foot backward.

The noise caught the others' attention and they all came hurrying over.

Dwight bent down and poked around in the leaves with his crossbow, shifting them aside to reveal a small metal mechanism tucked away beneath the brown and orange flakes.

"Would ya look at that," Morgan muttered, "A game trap."

"What's it doing here?" Shepherd asked.

Dwight snorted harshly. "The hell d'ya think? Someone's left it here to catch somethin' for them to chow down on."

"Can you tell what kind of trap it is?" Beth asked, her ankle giving an involuntary throb at the memory of being ensnared in something so similar once before.

"Well from what I can remember of these things, it looks like some kind o' leg-hold trap, probably for a smaller animal like a rabbit or a stoat. Traps like this're usually laid out amongst _others_ , so watch yer step around here."

Reaching down, Beth picked up the now snapped-closed game trap and stuffed it into Mark's pack, before walking cautiously ahead. Treading carefully, she reached the center of the clearing and noticed something large and bulky peeking out beneath the leaves. She pulled out the pickaxe and gave it a careful poke, wincing as the thing snapped shut just like the previous game trap. This one, however, was much larger in size, and far more menacing in design.

Metal jaws clamped shut, a larger game trap sat on the ground by Beth's feet, the mechanisms old and rusty. It had a bronze chain cementing it into the ground and a criss-cross design at the center, which the metal teeth stretched upward from. It resembled the closed mouth of a creature, sleeping dormant until something wandered into its territory.

"This is a bear trap, right?" she asked as Dwight approached.

"Yeah," he nodded, "How'd ya know?"

"My daddy had a friend. Otis . . . He did a lot of huntin'. I saw stuff like this in his pack before he went out sometimes, but when I asked about it he just shrugged me off. Said it was _grownup stuff_. I found out what they were on my own though . . . Always did."

Dwight didn't say anything to that, and neither did Beth as she merely stared down at the trap. Mark and Shepherd had come across several smaller traps nearby and were disarming them and pocketing some for future use.

Morgan came over to the bear trap and folded his arms, brow creasing in thought.

"What should we do with it?" Beth asked, "It's too big to take with us, plus it's hammered into the ground by a chain. This thing isn't going anywhere without a struggle."

Eventually, Morgan unfolded his arms and looked at her. "We could re-set it into place?" he suggested, "Set it up where it is now. See what we can catch with it."

Dwight nodded, "Ain't a bad idea. Like blondie said, it ain't goin' nowhere, so we might as well do what we can wit' it."

"I don't know how I feel about eatin' a _bear_ ," Beth said with a slight frown, "I haven't seen any for a long time anyway."

"This thing won't just catch bears," Dwight added, "It'll catch anythin' that wanders by and steps on it. Could catch us a fuckin' deer or somethin' 'cause of the size."

"I wouldn't wanna see a bear right now anyway," Shepherd called, "They get a lotta black bears up here. They'd tear the hell out of us and rip us to shreds."

Mark nodded agreeably.

"Could catch a coyote," Morgan commented, ". . . Or a wolf. Those've been reintroduced up here."

Dwight shook his head, "Nah I dunno, I doubt it. Canines are pretty rare to come by these days."

Beth raised her brows and tightened her lips.

 _S'just a damn dog._

". . . Not _that_ rare," she said quietly.

If Morgan had heard her, he gave her no more than the briefest of glances, before turning his attention back to the bear trap.

"Well," he said, "Let's get this thing set up an' catch us some _meat_."

"I'll eat anything that's meat," Mark smirked, "It'll be good for Lisa and the baby too."

Beth turned her expression away from Mark and stared into the metal jaws of the trap, studying a crispy leaf caught in the snare, _snapped_ in pieces.

They set the trap.

 _Because it'll be good for the baby._

.

.

They weren't far away from where they'd set the trap when they heard the loud cry of anguish.

It was later in the day, the sun having long since reached its hottest point and was now making its descent down, and they had caught five rabbits and four squirrels. They'd been walking back to camp when they heard the cry pierce the air and grab their attention.

Stopping in her tracks, Beth turned with the strap of rabbit corpses over her shoulder and stared out into the trees. Dwight gestured for silence with his hand and the rest of them came to a halt.

The silence stretched but eventually another pained wail broke through it, and they all reached for their weapons.

"Mark," Dwight hissed quietly, "Take these furries back t'the others an' take care of 'em for the time being. I'm gonna check that noise out."

"I'm coming too," Beth said with a hard expression, and Dwight looked like he was going to rebuke her before he eventually swallowed and nodded.

"Ok." he spat.

"Me too," Morgan said quietly, gripping his knife, "You don't know what's out there. You need all the help ya can get."

"Fine," he groaned, "But Shepherd at least goes with Mark. Can't have him all alone out here if there's someone _else_ about."

Shepherd nodded.

Beth flashed her a look and a nod and passed her load over. And then, they split off—Shepherd and Mark retreating back to the camp, whilst Beth, Dwight, and Morgan snuck off quietly through the trees in the direction of the distressed cry.

Squeezing the handle of the pickaxe, Beth bit her tongue hard enough to almost draw blood and blew a clump of grimy fringe out of her eyes. They each moved quietly over the leaves, Dwight in front and Morgan behind, and made their way over to the clearing where the bear trap was. Once they reached a cluster of trees that sat on the edge of the clearing, they pressed themselves against the barks and stayed low.

With her free palm pressed against the rough surface of the tree, Beth leaned sideways to carefully peer out into the open space . . .

There was a _man_ on his knees at the center of the clearing, right where the trap had been left. He had his leg bent under the other in an uncomfortable and unnatural position, and his hands were working at one of his feet in a manner that looked rather frantic.

He must have stepped on the trap lever and got his foot stuck in its metal jaws.

His head was covered by a thin grey hood, and he had his back turned to them, but the shape and size of the body definitely belonged to that of a man.

Beth glanced over behind Dwight at another tree. Morgan was behind him and the two returned the look. Swallowing, she pursed her lips and gave a firm nod, and they all stepped out from behind the trees.

"Don't move." she spoke loudly, making the man caught in the trap freeze at the sound of her voice.

She'd slid the pickaxe back into her belt and now had Shepherd's gun out. She didn't really intend to shoot it, for obvious reasons, but the man didn't know that.

Knuckles turning white because of how hard she was squeezing the handle, Beth pointed it more steadily at the man's back and straightened her stance.

"Turn around," she ordered, trying to hide all signs of shakiness from her tone.

Slowly, and as best as he could in his predicament, the man shifted so that he was facing them forwards. Dwight had a gun out now too, and Morgan was holding his knife in plain sight for the stranger to see. He must have been smart because he didn't move under the aim of two firearms, but his _appearance_ was enough to unnerve Beth alone.

He was dressed in scruffy clothes and caked in dirt, suggesting he lived rough, and the majority of his head was covered by the grey hood. He had his face exposed though and was sporting a wild beard of thick grey locks. What alarmed her, however, was the large _letter_ carved into his forehead like a cattle's branding.

A _'W',_ drawn onto the space above his brows with violent but careful precision, scarred and angry red like an open wound.

She found it alarming, because why had he tattooed himself so sadistically, and he had chosen one very specific letter that just _had_ to _mean_ something. And there was no instant way of telling what it meant or stood for.

His eyes widened with genuine surprise and . . . _delight_ as he gazed at her from his messy crouch, and his lips were parted in an almost smile.

"Oh . . ." he mumbled finally, his voice low and eerie, "A filly."

"A _what_?" Dwight snapped, gun pointing right at the taunting _'W'._

"A _filly_ ," the man repeated, slowly raising his finger and pointing at Beth, "A girl, and a pretty one too . . . _Oh,_ so pretty . . . I haven't seen one in so long now."

Beth's jaw hardened.

"Who are you?" Morgan questioned, eyes narrow and dangerous.

The man gave a faint laugh, regarding his caught foot for a moment before returning his entire attention once again to Beth.

"Things like that don't matter now," he smiled wolfishly, "No more."

"Who _are_ you?" Beth repeated, her own eyes sharp and her gun pointed straight at his face.

He laughed harder then, apparently ignoring the obvious pain in his foot. When he stopped, he flashed his teeth in a feral grin—brown, rotten teeth—and Beth felt her gut churn.

". . . Just a wolf . . ." he whispered ominously, sly smile still on his lips, "You gon' kill me, pretty miss huntress? Put me down like a dog an' haul my lifeless carcass home to your guys . . . ? As _dinner_?"

Finger shifting to the trigger, Beth flashed a rigid grimace.

"You ain't gonna kill me," he smirked, "People like you're all talk an' no shoot. I've seen tons like ya in the past few weeks. Won't do shit."

"None like me."

Still good people, were there? If so, they were nowhere around here.

"Are you alone?" she asked.

"Yep."

"I don't believe you."

"Then why'd you _ask_?"

Dwight elbowed her.

"Beth," he hissed, "There's no use talkin' to this crack-head, he ain't gonna tell us shit. Let's just leave 'im."

"We can't if he has company," she rebuked quietly, "We need to find out who he is and if he's alone."

"Doesn' look like he's gonna tell us much," Morgan commented.

Beth stared at the stranger with flickering eyes.

". . . We'll see," she whispered, before stepping forward and approaching him, gun still drawn.

She stopped just before him and towered above his crouching frame, and he gazed up through grimy bangs and smiled right into the barrel of her gun before returning his grin to her.

"Yer even prettier up close, girly."

Ignoring the comment, she squeezed the handle of the gun and swallowed her nerves.

"You said you'd seen a lot of people like us in the past few weeks," she said, "What _kind_ of people?"

He creased his brows carefully, the _'W'_ crinkling as he did.

"Just people. Other people. More sheep . . . Why you so interested?"

"Did you attack them?"

He laughed. "I think you're under the wrong assumption," he grinned cruelly, "That's not how we play the game. Besides, the baby was drawin' attention with its cryin' so we decided to scoot for the time being. It's a damn cruelty t'have a kid in the middle o' all this, don't ya think?"

Beth's pulse quickened.

"They had a baby with them?"

"Yep, baby an' a little boy. Don't know how they made it this far really."

She sucked in a shaky breath.

 _That's them._

 _It might not be._

 _THAT'S THEM._

"Tell me exactly what happened. Where did you see them, and what did you do?"

"We didn' do nothin'. They was marchin' north with a herd of biters behind 'em, didn't even seem to care about that. We were gonna rob their shit but they didn't have nothin'. They're probably dead right now if they didn't find food and water soon after that. They were _walkin'_ dead."

 _That's them._

Lowering herself to a crouch, Beth knelt before the man, gun still pointed at the center of his head, and bit the inside of her cheek. His brows were drawn down sharply and he was wearing a hideous frown. He noticed Dwight and Morgan gradually shifting closer to him and Beth, and was set on edge at that. Beth lifted her hand, eyes still trained on the stranger, and stopped them from advancing.

"Where was this?" she asked.

"Uh, I dunno. Just b'fore ya get to the Virginian border? That was weeks ago though. They're probably long gone or already dead."

"But they were alive when you saw them?"

He snorted harshly. "Course they were alive," he spat, "Barely. But alive."

 _That's them_ _. . ._

 _They're alive._

"Dwight. Morgan."

They grunted two _yeah?s_ in response, striding closer over the leaves, but Beth kept her gaze fixed in the stranger's. He stared back at her, his dark eyes gleaming with perverse luminosity, and for a moment she wanted to leave him there and let a walker stumble upon him.

"Hold him down," she said, "We're taking him back to camp."

"Is that wise?" Morgan asked, watching as Dwight went to vigorously bind the man's wrists together with a thick coil of rope from his pack.

"He has some of the answers I need, and we _all_ need whatever he has to say about the people he saw at the border."

"D'you think it was Rick? And the rest of them?"

Her pulse fluttered.

". . . I think it's the best lead we have."

Frustrated with his struggling, Dwight knocked the barrel of his gun against the back of the stranger's head and made him fall forward in the dirt, unconscious.

The trap was still fastened to his foot, metal teeth clamped down around his ankle, but instead of removing it, Dwight simply removed the chain from the earth and left it attached, dragging behind on the man's foot as a weight.

"We could tie him to a tree outside the camp?" he suggested, heaving him up with a limp arm over his shoulder.

"Then let's get him to one," Beth agreed, stuffing her gun into her belt and taking the pack from Morgan so he could go help with carrying the man.

As they walked back to where the others were, Beth's mind was replaying the words about the group and the baby, and chanting endlessly, _That's them, That's them, That's them._

 _They're alive._

.

.


	29. Just a wolf

**RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

"What's the W stand for?"

The stranger looked up from his tied position against the tree and flashed a tiny smirk that radiated sheer and twisted lechery. Beth's skin pricked and she gave a tight frown at the distorted smile.

"Did you hear me?" she asked, harder this time, "I said what's it stand for?"

"It stands for _Wolf_ , sweetheart." he purred.

 _Just a wolf._

"Why _wolf_?"

"Because it's t'name of our group, that's why."

"So you're not alone."

"Am now."

She stared at him, fingers squeezing the handle of the pickaxe, and tried so intently to read his grizzly expression.

"Why are you alone now?" she asked, brows arching down and lips tightening.

"I lost the rest of the guys a couple o' miles back, runnin' from those Savior clowns."

"The Saviors? You mean Negan's Saviors?"

Surprise bloomed momentarily in his expression.

". . . You know about Negan?" he asked, his tone low and eerie, as if he were referencing some old forbidden fairytale.

She swallowed, "I've heard things."

"You ain't seen nothin', filly unless you've met him with yer own two eyes . . . 'Till you've seen the things he can _do_."

"What kinds of things?"

His eyes glowed.

"The worst kinds."

"So you were running from this Negan guy when you spotted that group with the baby on their way up to Virginia?"

He nodded, twitching his nose and scrunching up his face as if he had a sudden itch. The _'W'_ creased and crinkled with the lines of age on his forehead, and transformed into angry lines of cracked skin.

"He's very . . . territorial, and I guess he didn't like us scavenging so close to his camp. So his men chased us out."

"The Saviors?"

Another nod.

Beth looked down at the leaves by her feet and chewed her lip. What if Rick and the others had run into these people? What if they'd been chased away like stray dogs in unwelcome parts of town, and were walking in a completely different direction?

What if they weren't walking at all anymore?

"So your group—the Wolves—you're a type of cult?" she asked, "Scavengers? The carved letter on your head . . . Aren't you no different to them then?"

"Don't go comparin' small fry like us to the big boys like Negan and his men. _Don't_ do that, my beauty."

She really wished he'd stop with the terms of endearment and the skin-crawling looks of longing.

"What would Negan and the Saviors do to that group if they ran into them?"

He burst out into hysterical laughter then, a response that alarmed Beth, and he flashed a crooked grin.

"What would happen to them? Girly . . . There would be none of them left to even _run_. He might spare the baby, he's funny with things like that; and offer the women a place in his sick little harem of wives. Then he'd just kill the ones that said no, an' then everyone else too."

"He sounds like an asshole."

"Asshole don't even come close to coverin' it."

". . . Where were you running to?"

"Anywhere, didn't matter, jus' somewhere away from him."

Like wolves running from their greater predator.

The Wolf's expression darkened and he sat back against the tree more comfortably, fingers twitching by his restraints.

"What's yer name?" he asked eventually.

Her brows creased even more.

"Why do you wanna know?"

"I like t'know the names of those who manage to capture me, 'cause it sure as hell don't happen often. Plus, none of 'em have ever been as pretty as you—"

"Stop."

He chuckled. "Ain't gonna tell me then?" he teased, "Oh well. Didn't expect ya to. You looked a little frigid anyways."

She felt her blood burning.

"Why don't you tell me _your_ name?" she turned the tables on him, "It sure as hell isn't just Wolf."

"You're right, it ain't, but—"

"But let me guess . . . You're not gonna tell me just like I'm not gonna tell you mine."

" _Sharp_."

His eyes were filled with laughter, and it was that simple look that made Beth grip the handle of her pickaxe and stalk closer towards him.

"Back in the clearin'," he said with an eerie grin as she came closer, "When I mentioned that group we saw north . . . Somethin' sparked in ya then. Somethin' came to life. An' then you dragged me all the way back to yer camp and tied me up here . . . for _what_?"

"What are you tryin' to say?"

He leaned forward, eyes laughing and his teeth glowing a dull brownish yellow.

"Why are you tailing 'em?" he asked, "They're a good hundred miles up the country, headed towards a _madman_ , and you're willin' to follow full speed ahead. So my question is . . . What'd'you want from 'em?"

"I don't want anything."

"But that's where you're wrong, girly. People these days don't just trek across the country after one specific group for nothin'. People don't do that."

"I'm not just _people_."

"So then why you chasin' after them?"

Beth tightened her lips.

Why?

 _What are we going to do when we find your friends?_

 _What are we going to do if we_ don't _?_

"That's none of your business," she scowled, "All you have to do is point me in the right direction so that I can find 'em."

". . . Do you know 'em?" he asked, head falling to the side to rest on his shoulder.

"What if I do?"

He laughed.

"Is something funny?"

"Not _hilariously_ _. . ._ But they was walkin' away from here. Away from _you_. If you guys know each other like ya say . . . Then why aren't they turnin' around and comin' back for ya?"

Unable and unwilling to resist the urge any longer, Beth dropped the pickaxe and lifted her hands to violently tug the cloth off from around her head.

The Wolf's eyes widened briefly as the circular scar just below her hairline was exposed to view, and his jaw loosened.

She stood like that, her hand pushing her fringe and flyaway hairs out of the way to reveal the scabbed over scar, and glared profoundly whilst feeling those betraying tears pricking at her eyes.

After a while of staring, the Wolf tilted his head to the side and narrowed his eyes carefully.

"Looks like yer dead to them in more ways than one, girly."

"They don't know I'm trying to find them," she said, lowering her hand and letting some hairs fall over the ugly scar, "Heck, they probably don't even know I'm _alive,_ but I'm gonna keep going. I'll keep going 'til it kills me for real this time."

"You need to re-evaluate yer life if you're thinkin' like that."

Tying the bandage back around her head clumsily, Beth picked the pickaxe back up and called for Dwight. He came wandering from his perch on the edge of the camp and stood at her side, eyeing the Wolf tied to the quizzically.

His eye was narrow as he shifted his puzzled gaze to her, but widened slightly when she handed him a knife she'd had strapped to her belt.

"Make him talk," she said finally, shocking both Dwight and the Wolf.

Dwight eyed her suspiciously, his mouth curved in a slight frown, before he cautiously accepted the knife. He gripped it and stalked closer to the Wolf, crouching down before him when he got close enough.

The Wolf laughed, gaze whizzing from Dwight back to Beth. "Ya gotta be kidding me," he laughed heartily, " _Really_?"

Beth's eyes held no traces of laughter.

Dwight glanced back at her over his shoulder and shot her a look.

"This is your last chance." she warned.

 _Last chance._

 _Tell me which way they went._

His eyes darkened and all laughter faded from his features. He seemed to have finally realised that she was a long way from joking. _Far_ from it in fact.

Underestimated.

She looked at Dwight and gave a final nod.

 _No more chances_.

"Do it."

Dwight isolated the knife at first and slammed his mere fist against the Wolf's cheek, hard.

The sound of knuckles connecting with nose cartilage and cheekbone snapped through the woods with a sickening _crunch!_ The Wolf spat out a ball of saliva and blood and glared up into Beth's eyes.

"Prissy _bitch_ ," she spat, and Dwight hit him again.

"Best watch yer fuckin' mouth when you're in punching line with my fist," he growled, surprising Beth with the defensiveness of his words.

The Wolf spat another mouthful of blood out and grimaced.

"If ya wanted t'know so badly ya could've just _asked_."

"I _did_ ask," Beth reminded him, "But all you did was run your mouth and taunt me. If you've decided you got something to say, say it."

"Or what?"

"Or you get another taste of his fist."

When he fell deadly quiet, Dwight held up the knife and pressed it against his throat, intentionally pushing not quite hard enough to pierce the flesh, but just hard enough to emphasise how serious he was.

The Wolf's eyes narrowed.

"They were headed north," he growled reluctantly, "Some of us saw 'em passin' Richmond in Virginia. Last we saw of 'em, they were being taken by those dicks behind the walls near D.C."

"Alexandria?"

The Wolf's eyes flickered at her sudden eagerness.

"That's right," he nodded, "They walked in there like kittens bein' lead into their new home. Sucks that the truth was they were walkin' like cattle into the slaughterhouse."

"Wait, wait. What do you mean? Isn't the place supposed to be a sanctuary?"

"It is _s'posed_ to be . . . but don't you know?"

Dwight glanced back over his shoulder and gave her a puzzled look which she returned. She stared at the Wolf with furrowed brows and shook her head.

He grinned, flashing his rotten teeth.

". . . Alexandria _takes_ people."

"What do you mean . . . _takes_?"

"Exactly how it sounds. I mean they have people that go out actively searchin' for people that are still alive outside their walls, flash them a couple of fancy pictures of the place and spout some stories about the _wonders_ of their 'safe zone' . . . Then they lead 'em in through those gates without trouble, and they're never seen again."

"And what proof do you have that anything _bad_ is going on behind those gates?" Dwight asked.

"Because when you got a place like that, with the perfect defences an' supplies . . . Why would you purposely go out lookin' for other people?"

"Maybe they wanna save them too," Beth said sharply, "Maybe they want _other_ people to have the same chance at survival that they do . . . Maybe they believe there are still good people out there."

"Girl . . . Nobody thinks like that no more. It's all about your own survival now, at any cost. It's thinkin' like that that'll get ya killed, and that community is still up and very much standin'."

She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out.

"We've got guys up in that area, and we ain't never seen that group of yours again after they walked in through those gates . . ." he whispered, ". . . _Ever_."

Her lips trembled.

"They're _dea_ –"

"I'll get them out."

Dwight eyed her in confusion and she bit the inside of her cheek.

"That's right," she said, "I will go in there, and I'll get them out because they are not _dead_ _. . ._ That's _not_ what they are."

 _Not all of them_.

"Pretty big thing to do, that." the Wolf remarked, "If ya storm in by force and demand they give you your people, if they're even still alive, they're gonna fight back."

"Let them."

Dwight was flashing her warning eyes but she ignored him and stalked closer to the man being held captive.

She knelt down before him by Dwight's side and stared into the repulsive little man's beady eyes.

"They may have left me in the back of a car to rot," she said slowly, "But I will _not_ do the same to them."

He didn't have anything to say to that.

Rising to a standing position, Beth stood towering above Dwight and the Wolf and tightened her mouth.

"Dwight," she called, meeting his gaze, "Tell everyone to pack up. We're leaving this place. Now."

He stood as well.

"Alright, but what about him?" he asked, gesturing to the still tied Wolf.

She eyed the Wolf for a few seconds before balling her empty fist and finally opening her mouth to speak.

"He stays right where he is."

The Wolf was outraged.

"What the fuck!?" he cried as Beth and Dwight began to walk away, leaving him thrashing tied to the tree, "Ya can't just leave me here! I told you what ya wanted to know, now let me go! Ya can't do this to me! I'll die out here!"

"It's all about your own survival now!" she yelled, throwing his own words back in his face and not even turning to face him as she just carried on walking away, "Watch out for walkers."

They left him there to rot.

.

.

Beth could feel Dwight's eyes on her as they walked at the front of the group, steady and sharp as she strode over a fallen log. Eventually, his constant staring began to wear on her, and she shifted her gaze to him and stared back.

"What?" she asked sharply.

He shrugged and tightened the pack straps on his shoulders.

"S'nothin'," he responded, "I was just thinkin' how fuckin' _scary_ you actually are, blondie."

Her brow creased, "What do you mean?"

"Back there with Mr. _W_ , after what he said about Alexandria. You were ready to go to declare war on them just like _that_. All to get some friends you're not even sure are still alive back."

"I'm not gonna declare _war_ , I just want them back. If I ask for them and they give them, then that's great. But if they don't . . . Then I'll just get them back a different way."

". . . You're pretty damn ruthless, y'know that?"

She shot him a look.

"You _are_!" he stressed, "Ya were willing to fight Negan just as easily too. You'll do _anythin'_ to get your people back."

"Well, you're right about that last thing. I _will_ do anything to get them back. I owe it to them for everything they've done for me."

"Even stand against two armies on yer own with no chance of victory? You didn't strike me as the violent type when I first met ya," he admitted.

"I didn't?"

"Nah. Ya seemed more . . . quiet. Not _passive_ , but not aggressively seekin' a fight. Ya seemed like the type to fuck shit up in a discrete sorta way, where no one would suspect ya for doin' it . . . Kinda like the killer in Cluedo."

"Did you just compare me to a _whodunnit_ murder case from a board game?"

He didn't respond, but eventually snorted quietly. She very nearly laughed because of it too. "So what _am_ I like?" she asked, treading over a thick twig and making it _snap!_ loudly, "If I'm not 'discreetly fucking shit up'?"

He thought about that for a while before answering.

"You're a force, Beth Greene. An honest t'god, motherfuckin' _force_."

Girl of smoke and fire.

Force of nature, the source of will and determination.

"Well in _that_ case . . . May the force be with you."

He looked at her dryly and she _did_ laugh, for just a brief second, before Morgan came jogging up to join them.

She looked away quickly like she'd been caught doing something she shouldn't have been doing.

How sad that such a thing as laughter was deemed that way to her now.

"Who was that you left tied to a tree just outside the camp?" he asked, "Guy with the _'W'_ sketched onto his forehead."

"He said he was a part of some group called The Wolves," she answered, "He told us what he knew about Alexandria and my group."

"He saw Rick?"

"Yeah. Said they got taken by the safe zone and never came out again. He said no one _ever_ comes out of that place once they go in."

"Do you believe him?"

She stuttered on a breath and looked down at her boots.

"I don't know. But he told me where they are and that's what matters. They went past Richmond and then Alexandria found them, so that's where we go."

"Why would they go _past_ Richmond?" Dwight asked, "If that's where this Noah's home and family were, why wouldn't they stay there?"

". . . I think I have an idea about why they didn't do that," she said quietly.

"We'll never know for sure unless we see with our own eyes," Morgan uttered, "I wouldn't give up yet."

Her eyes blazed.

"If I'd given up, do you really think I'd be still marchin' forward?"

"The day blondie gives up on what she believes in will be the day waffles an' pop-tarts fly," Dwight muttered.

"That was weirdly specific," Morgan said, and Beth nearly smiled again.

Steadily . . . and somehow . . . it was becoming easier to do that.

 _Smile_ again.

And that was good.

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Well. Leaving that Wolf there was pretty cold on Beth's part. I wonder if that'll come back and bite her in the ass later? (...)

Just wanted to say thanks so much for the usual support and reviews, and that I appreciate every single review/follow/favourite you guys give. Keep it up and I'll keep giving you chapters. I think you'll all like the next one. I'm not going to say why but I have a gut feeling that you will.

THANKS FOR READING!


	30. Forward

**Author's Corner**

So we've reached chapter thirty? That's quite a milestone for me, so there's something special at the start of this chapter that you guys'll either love, or want to punch me for because it's only very brief and a little ambiguous/random in the flow of the narrative. (You'll see what I mean when you read the chapter.) It's pretty exciting though and I think it works well in regards to the flow overall, so I hope you like it.

Thanks so much for all your lovely responses and questions, I love reading through all of them. As always, keep at it and enjoy the chapter (hopefully)!

Also check my tumblr (link in bio) for updates/edits/art for the fic, because I do post things in regards to this story. :D

 **Disclaimer:** If _I_ owned TWD, do you really think I would've ended the finale for S6 like _that_?

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

 ** _—_ _Two months past Present_ _—_**

"Beth, this isn't going to work! We're too vulnerable this way!"

"We already are! And if we don't do somethin' soon it'll be too late to do _anythin'_!"

Edwards bit down on the inside of his cheek and watched his battered blonde companion work at prying open the rusty grate in the ground. The sound of shouting and gunshots split through the air and mixed with the horrible screeching rasps of nearing walkers, and Edwards could feel his heart pumping in his throat.

Beth was on her knees on the ground, jeans torn up and mangled from the concrete and past struggles, and she was frantically trying to pry open the grate with her pickaxe. She breathed an irritated puff of air to shove her loose fringe out of her face and thrust the sharp point of the axe down into the gap around the edges of the lid.

Heart still hammering away, Edwards clutched the machete in his hands and turned to look behind him, where Lilly was standing by the brick wall corner looking out for walkers.

A loud wave of explosives shattered through the air from around the corner and Lilly lifted her arm to cover her face from the smoke and debris.

A cry of triumph erupted from Beth's mouth as she finally managed to yank the grate lid up and to the side. Edwards dropped to the floor with her and stared down into the blackness of the underground sewer system that led into the heart of the breached Alexandria Safe Zone.

"Right then," Beth said, swinging a leg over the lip of the hole and readying to climb the ladder.

"Wait."

She stopped and stared at him, eyes questioning and face littered with scars and bruises. _So_ many more than when she'd left the hospital—lifeless—in Daryl Dixon's arms, and Edwards could only watch as he carried her away into the city of death.

"Don't do this," he whispered, taped together glasses gradually sliding down his nose as he spoke, "You don't have to. We can figure something else out, we _can_ _. . ._ Just don't do this."

Her eyes glittered with reluctance and slight anguish at his plea. "I _have_ to save them," she breathed.

". . . They left you in Atlanta to die. They left you alone in a car and they never came back . . . Are you really willing to risk going in there after they did that? After everything we've been through . . . Is it worth it?"

 _Are_ they _worth it?_

She stared down into the grate and her eyes shone with the sadness of stars. He looked at her through his beyond broken glasses frames and felt a pang in his chest at her expression.

 _She'll always put them first_ , his mind recapped, the tone of sad acceptance creeping in. _She's been fighting so hard to get home to them all this time. That's always been her primary goal._

 _That was never going to change by forging a new friendship with us_.

Finally, she shook her head and opened her mouth shakily.

". . . I can't do the same thing to them."

Just as she'd said that, Dwight and Rosita came running around the corner, closely followed by Morgan, Shepherd, and Aaron. Lilly fired a few rounds of bullets before jogging after them and coming to a stop with the rest before the two of them on the ground. They all glanced at the open grate for a second before strapping their weapons to their waists.

Beth looked at them questioningly.

"You don't have to do this alone," Edwards said.

Her eyes glimmered more as she looked at them, "I can't bring you all into this."

"You don't have a choice."

"He'll kill you this time if he manages to get a hold of you." Morgan said, "He'll hold that barbed bitch, _Lucille,_ over your head and he'll batter you to _death_. You saw what he did to that man back at his base. What he almost did to _us_."

"He'll do that to _you_ if yer not careful," Dwight spoke up, "You've underestimated him for the last time. If he gets the chance . . . He _will_ kill ya this time. And we ain't gonna stand aside an' let that happen."

"We're with you," Shepherd said firmly, "We always have been. You don't have to do this alone."

Edwards saw the overwhelming emotion swimming in her eyes and watched as she swallowed the lump in her throat. She looked like she was about to say something before another giant explosion took place around the corner, and cries of pain and walker snarls shot through the air.

Lilly took off running towards the spectacle, and Morgan and Aaron followed. Beth gazed up at Edwards and looked him right in the eye, before blinking away her tears and hardening her jaw.

"Rosita!" she called, "You and Aaron are the only ones who know the routes down there, right?"

Rosita nodded, "Right."

"Show me to the exit that'll take me to the most secluded part of the zone, then come back and help everyone here. I'll find Carol and Michonne myself from there."

Edwards leaped up. "You'd still be going in there by yourself!" he cried, "Let us that's left come with you."

"Yeah!" Dwight agreed wholeheartedly, "We'll smash those motherfuckers to smithereens!"

Beth shook her head.

"I'm sorry . . . but I can't have anyone else die because of me."

"Please." Edwards begged, uncaring of how desperate he might look or sound, "I don't want _you_ to die."

 _You looked like that._

 _When he carried you out to your sister. You looked just like that._

She looked at him and curved her lips into a sad smile, before throwing her arms around him and squeezing him in a quick hug.

Edwards whimpered, glasses fully slipping down his nose and onto her shoulder, and he hugged her back. When she did this, the first thought that flashed through his mind was the moment he'd first seen her staggering into the parking lot back at Grady—bashed and bloody—walking as if she were dead, clinging to life. And then when she reached out to him where he stood on the roof of the building, and mouthed those two broken words . . .

 _Help me._

Didn't she know that he'd always help her?

Always.

All she had to do was ask.

"Well, if we're going to go, we need to go now." Rosita urged, the sounds of explosives and gunfire increasing in sound and range.

Beth gave him one more squeeze before pulling back and giving him one of her widest smiles.

"You saved my life," she whispered, "Back when you had no obligation to, I never properly thanked you for it, but what I _can_ do is try to come back. I _promise_ that I won't give what you gave me up. Not ever. I'll come back."

He smiled in return.

"Ok."

She picked up his glasses and put them back on his face, before turning and scurrying down the grate with a trail of gold and a swinging braid trailing behind her.

Rosita leaped down after her and they both vanished into the dark.

Dwight picked up the heavy metal lid and covered the hole with it, before picking up his bow and standing. He glanced down at Edwards and gave him a look.

"Don't worry about her," he said, "In case we've all forgotten, this is Beth Greene. There ain't nothin' that can kill her now. Maybe not even Negan."

Edwards hoped he was right.

 _Believe. Believe in her. Because she's our last chance. Our salvation. Our girl of ash and cinders. Blue flames in the dark. Gold in the grey._

 _She taught us we could be more than just survival. That we could transcend. She taught us to put our faith in something we believe in, like blonde braids dancing with the wind, and gentle songs floating with the tide._

 _She showed us we could live, so we have to believe that she can too._

.

.

 **— _Present_ —**

Something was building as they drew closer and closer to Richmond.

All of them could feel it, but it was becoming all the more evident to Lilly that Beth especially could feel it, as they drove down the windy country roads of Virginia in their newly acquired vehicles. The abandoned RV they'd salvaged from a Walmart parking lot some miles back south was in relatively decent shape, and the car driving in front and the one at the rear were probably as good as they could get.

Lilly sat on the three seater sofa in the RV with Greg asleep on her lap and watched Beth sat on the one opposite, picking at the peeling plaster from the cast on her wrist.

Mark and Dwight were in the car at the front of the formation with Matty in the back seat, and Terry, Morgan, and Shepherd were on lookout in the car at the rear. The remainder of them had somehow managed to pile into the RV, which was spacious but no mansion of a vehicle, and were sitting quietly chatting amongst themselves.

Steven was on the couch next to Beth, fiddling with the lenses of his glasses and wiping them with his shirt. Without looking up from what he was doing, he reached over and stopped her picking at her cast, then went back to cleaning his glasses like he hadn't been doing anything other than that at all. Beth looked at him and then dropped her arm onto her lap, one of her feet tapping impatiently against the sofa as she quietly blew out a puff of air.

Lilly felt a tiny smile creeping onto her face at that, despite it all, so she tilted her head down and directed it at Greg, pushing some hair out of his closed eyes. Alice came over then with Effy, and they both lowered themselves to the floor by the sofas and sat cross-legged.

Effy brushed Beth's knee with her hand as she walked past and the two shared a smile, before they settled into a quiet sort of symphony. The kind that could only come out of a shared intensive trauma.

What had these people been through? Or perhaps more specifically . . . What had _Beth_ been through?

Clearly a lot. So much so that maybe she was one of the few people left that just might understand some of the demons that chased Lilly behind her closed eyelids.

Maybe she'd understand the screams and tears of the dying as they took their final breaths, and the sparks of despair in their pupils when _you_ were the one to _take_ that life. Perhaps she would understand what it was like to have ghosts at the back of your closet. To run in the fear not necessarily of your own life being taken, but rather of when you'd next take it from somebody else.

Did she know how it felt to have Phillip Blake's death on her shoulders . . . and how it felt somewhat _pacifying_ as well as merely poignant?

"What was it like for you?" Alice asked Beth suddenly, capturing everyone's attention who was nearby.

The blonde stared at her with confusion swirling in her features.

"Before you met us," Alice clarified, "Before that hospital, even. How'd you all make it this far? You and those guys up north, I mean. How'd you survive through this?"

"I . . . We just did what we had to do to survive," Beth murmured uneasily, "We did a lot of things, things I'm not proud of, but we had to do them to make sure we made it."

"You killed people?"

"Some."

"Were they bad people?"

Beth went quiet for a few seconds before answering.

". . . Not all of them." she admitted finally, "But sometimes you have to do things like that in this world. I didn't wanna do those things before it was just me, back when I had other, _braver_ people to do it. Before the prison, and the hospital . . . But everyone has to change eventually if they wanna survive. We all have to be brave."

Lilly's ears perked at the mention of a prison.

 _What_ prison?

Surely it was just coincidence—this prison that she had just dropped casually into the conversation. Surely this prison she spoke of wasn't the same one in _Georgia_? The place she'd lost her daughter, her sister, and everything else that mattered . . .

The RV came to an unscheduled stop all of a sudden, and everyone looked around in puzzlement as to why they had stopped.

Greg stirred on her lap and blinked a few times before registering his surroundings. He stared up at her with eyes still partially closed and gave her a questioning frown. Lilly squeezed his shoulder and glanced over at Thomas in the driver's seat, waiting for him to offer an explanation for the sudden stop. However, he seemed just as confused as the rest of them, passing quick dazed glances at Lisa next to him.

Beth rose from the three-seater and moved to the front of the RV, and Lilly nodded at Steven to take care of Greg whilst she followed.

Following the girl to the driver's department, Lilly stood beside Beth and leaned over Thomas and Lisa to look out at the road ahead.

The car in front had stopped just a few meters ahead, and Dwight had gotten out and was standing by the open door.

He had his crossbow out and cocked with an arrow, and Lilly only had to look a few feet further forward to know _why_ they'd stopped.

A trail of bodies stretched out along the road ahead, decapitated of their legs and arms so they were really just torsos. But they weren't just lifeless bodies . . . They were still _alive_. Or . . . At least as alive a flock of immobile biters could be.

Dwight wandered forward and kicked one of them with his boot, before stomping on its head and crushing it to a bloody mush of decayed brains and bone. Lilly watched Beth's eyes trained on the spectacle, something flickering away in those expressive blues of hers, and before she knew it, the girl was opening the RV door and jogging down the steps and out.

Lilly followed, telling the others to stay put and closing the door behind her. She ran after Beth and unsheathed her knife, just in case any walkers that still owned their limbs came wandering over.

Beth came to a halt by one of the snarling torsos and stared down at it with that same hooded expression. Lilly jogged over and stopped at her side, and stared down at the creature she was staring at so adamantly. Dwight eyed them suspiciously, stomping his foot down on another one of the biters and tightening the string on his bow.

Beth's lips began to shake and she balled her fists at her sides, and then Lilly noticed the thing she was staring at.

On the biter's head, carved in deep above the brows . . . was the letter _'W'_.

She glanced over at the others and found them all to have that same mark drawn on each of their foreheads, branded clear like farming cattle.

"What in the world . . ." Lilly mumbled to herself, and Beth pulled out her pickaxe and used it to stab the biter right in the head through the ominous _'W'_.

"The man we found outside the camp had that mark on his forehead," Beth said, shaking the clotty blood from her axe, "He said he was part of a group called The Wolves. Either this is their way of dealing with their enemies . . . Or these are his comrades. Or what _used_ to be his comrades, at least."

"But if the latter is true then that would have to mean . . . that somebody _else_ did this to them."

Beth's eyes flickered and the serrated scar on her brow looked somehow harsher as her expression grew more and more grave. "Exactly. So if that _is_ the case, then the question we should be askin' is . . . _who_ did this to them?"

Lilly felt a shiver go down her spine at the question.

 _Who indeed?_

"Lilly."

She looked up from the biter's torso and looked to Dwight, who had addressed her.

"We obviously can't drive on with these chopped up pricks cloggin' up the road," he said, "So everyone's gonna have to band together and work at movin' 'em. We do it fast an' get on our way as quickly as possible. Ain't safe to stay out in the open for too long."

Beth nodded.

It was rare to see the two of them in agreement over something, but Lilly supposed it wasn't much of a stretch when the safety of the group was concerned.

She went back into the RV and told the able members the plan and then went around to the car at the back where Terry, Morgan, and Shepherd were sitting defending the rear. Soon all the biters were well and truly dead, and moving them out of the road was the only task that needed to be carried out.

She saw Jackson crouch down over one of them at the edge of the road and fumble around in the thing's coat, so she walked over to him and peered down at what he was doing.

"Look at that!" he exclaimed in triumph, and produced something from the biter's inner pocket, "Unopened packet of smokes and a lighter. Jackpot."

"Still on the lookout for cigarettes?" she asked disbelievingly, "Are the biters not enough to make you worry about getting yourself killed?"

"These things are one of the few joys I have now. Back off and let a man enjoy what he can take at the end of the world."

She rose her hands melodramatically.

"Fine. Just don't come running to me when you get a coughing fit, because I'm not gonna give you anything for it."

"I'll just ask the doctor then; he seems like a bit of a pushover. I'm sure he wouldn't say no to a patient asking for help."

Lilly folded her arms.

"You leave him alone," she warned, "The last thing he needs is some asshole bothering him when he's trying to do more important things like . . . I don't know. Saving _lives_? He and I saved yours when you got bit, in case you already forgot. Don't think I'll do it again if you go filling your lungs with the black smoke in those cancer sticks."

"Whatever. We're breathin' in smoke all the time now anyway."

Sighing, she left him alone and heard the lid of the lighter flick open for him to light a cigarette. She scanned the group for Beth and found herself both confused and a little alarmed when she found no trace of the girl.

"Where's Beth?" she asked Dwight as she approached him.

His eyes darted around the area before he shrugged. "I dunno. She probably went back inside the RV for somethin'. She was near Doctor Wonderworker when I last saw her. Ask him."

Lilly gripped the handle of her knife and walked over to where Steven was dragging one of the biter's torsos out of the road. He looked up at her as she stopped about a meter away from him and nearly let his glasses drop down his nose and onto the concrete.

"Did you see where Beth went?" she asked.

He put the biter down and wiped his hands on his shirt.

"She saw something in the woods just a little while ago and said she wanted to check it out. I told her not to be gone too long."

"Which way did she go?"

"That way," he said, pointing into the trees to the left, "Why?"

 _Because I want to ask her about that prison, and see who the infamous Rick Grimes that Brian told me about is to her_ _. . ._ _I want to know if she was there on that battlefield and saw what went down with that poor old man, Hershel._

". . . I just want to know if she's all right." she opted for instead, "If anyone asks where I've gone, just tell them I went to check on Beth. I'll be back soon, with her I hope."

"Ok then. Be careful."

She smiled.

"I will."

And then she went walking in the direction Beth was supposed to have gone and strode over the fallen leaves and twigs underfoot.

 _Was she with the enemy in the warzone? And was she a killer_ _. . ._ _or was she just one of the ones that was just living with killers?_

.

.


	31. Have to put it away

**Author's Corner**

Oh boy... Let me just tell you know, this chapter is a heavy one. Like, seriously, honestly, _such_ a heavy chapter emotions-wise, and it was a real bitch to write. I'm exploring so many themes in this lone chapter alone, things like emotional trauma, anguish, heartbreak, slight mental breakdown, etc. so if things get a bit extreme, I warned you.

Try not to cry whilst reading, because I was pretty teary writing it, and I _want_ to say _enjoy_... but I really don't think this is the kind of chapter you _can_ enjoy, if you feel me. You'll see what I mean when you read on. I hope you enjoy _reading_ it, but I'd be a little disturbed if you enjoyed what was happening lmao.

It's not a _total_ agony cocktail though, because that's not the way I like to write. Things get dark and heavy in this, yes, but there's something at the end that I think you'll either: **a)** love and be excited about, or **b)** hate me and want to punch me in the face for leaving you like that. So yeah. Read on.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD or any of it's characters.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Beth knew that someone was following her.

They weren't trained in keeping their footfalls quiet, so each step they took made a loud snapping of twigs and crunching of leaves beneath boots. Uncertain of who it was, though, she slinked off and hid behind a tree with the pickaxe held out, and peered around to wait for the figure to come into sight . . .

It was Lilly.

Beth breathed a sigh of relief. She was walking closer to her hiding spot behind the tree with a troubled expression on her face. She didn't have a weapon out, her arms swinging loosely at her sides, and an enticing yet horribly _wicked_ idea came into Beth's head.

Once Lilly was close enough, she leaped out from behind the tree and held the axe to her arm, tempted to give a comical _boo!_ but refrained. The last time she'd done that she nearly got an arrow shot through her skull. Lilly shrieked in utter untimely surprise and stumbled backward. She looked like a spooked deer, but when she saw that it was only Beth, she composed herself and wore a tight frown on her lips.

"Why'd you do that!?" she asked disbelievingly, her shoulders heaving from the fright.

"You didn't have your weapon out," Beth answered casually, lowering her axe, "I could've been anything or any _one_. You would'a been dead."

"Well, just don't do it again. You scared the crap outta me."

"Why're you followin' me?"

Lilly's irritated unease faded and she looked at her sincerely.

"I was worried about you," she admitted, "I didn't want you going off alone and something happening to you. What're you doing wandering off out here anyway?"

"I . . ."

"Steven told me you thought you'd seen something."

 _Steven?_

Oh. _Edwards_. So him and her were on a first name basis now? That seemed pretty friendly considering she still only called him Edwards _herself_. It didn't feel right to call him Steven. Not after all of it. There were too many Stevens . . . Too many Beths. Names were just names in the end. Titles of what were once stories.

 _Every name is only a story in the end_.

But Lilly found it appropriate to call him Steven. It was telling on its own how she'd even found out he was called that, considering everyone else called him by his surname too . . .

Beth found that little discovery to be pretty interesting.

"Yeah," she said eventually, "A walker, I think. I saw it wandering the treeline and wanted to make sure it was taken care of. We wouldn't want a repeat of what happened by the stream."

"We wouldn't." Lilly agreed earnestly, "Mind if I come with? It's not a good idea to be out here on your own."

"Oh . . . Yeah. C'mon."

They walked through the woods in silence after that, no overhead songs from the birds to fill it. No sounds at all actually. None at all. In fact, it was so quiet that it was almost as if something was _wrong_ . . .

"Did you see which way it went?" Lilly asked, breaking the deafening silence.

"Towards those willow trees over there, the ones with the hangin' leaves. I heard some snarling come from there too."

Weapons on hand, they stalked over to the natural curtains of green leaves made by the trees and lightly pushed them aside.

The sunlight cut through the gaps and shone in every different direction like flashlights, painting the scenery in a picturesque warm hue. Despite this, the air of _wrongness_ was still heavy in the air, working in contrast with the surroundings and slicing through Beth's skin like a blade with every step deeper into the willows.

A strangled snarl of a gasp carved through the green curtains and Beth held two fingers up in a Daryl-like silent hand gesture to tell Lilly to still. Lilly stopped behind her and waited.

 _Listen, Greene._

 _Listen._

 _Close your eyes an' listen to what's around ya._

Fingers still up, Beth closed her eyes and let out a slow breath, and listened to the surrounding sounds.

.

.

 _"_ _What can you hear?"_

 _"_ _I hear . . . Wind blowing through the trees . . . Some larks, I think, or magpies. A distant stream . . . Shuffling in the leaves . . . The woods."_

 _Daryl rolled his eyes at her giggle and looked away bashfully. She smiled inwardly and tightened her hold on the handle of his bow, and scanned her eyes along the line of trees up ahead._

 _"What do ya hear now?"_ _he whispered, tone quiet and gravelly._

.

.

Beth's brow creased and she tightened her cheeks.

Raspy breaths and a strangled groan. Crunching leaves. Snapping twigs. Zigzaggy tracks dotted along the dirt . . .

 _It's a walker_.

She pushed another leafy curtain aside and came face to face with the screeching creature, and stabbed it through the temple with her axe in one fluid movement.

It fell to the ground in a sagging heap and prompted a short silence in which not even the wind dared to float through the trees and whistle.

Until Lilly broke it.

"Beth?"

Beth stared at the woman beside the crumpled walker and felt another shiver creep up her spine.

The look on Lilly's face was . . . unnerving.

". . . Yeah?"

Lilly bit the inside of her cheek and looked down momentarily, before glancing back up and staring with a resolute expression. "I have to ask you something," she said sincerely, "Something . . . that you might not wanna answer."

"What is it?"

"Before. Back in the RV . . . You mentioned a prison."

Beth sucked in a sharp breath.

"You said that . . . and it may not mean anything, but still . . . I have to at least ask—"

"What're you trying to say?"

Lilly looked surprised at the sudden sharpness of her tone, and began to appear even more uneasy.

Pictures of the flames swallowing the prison towers danced around in her mind. Screams. Explosions. The children all gone.

 _I was trying to find them. I was trying to get them all on the bus. But then it drove away and all the kids were gone. Everyone was. Everyone except Daryl Dixon._

 _We had to go_.

If she hadn't found Daryl in the yard that day, if he hadn't told her that they had to leave, if her appearance hadn't made him tell _himself_ that they had to leave . . . then chances are they would've both stayed behind until they burned with the place.

"Were you with Rick Grimes's people?"

The question hung in the air.

 _My people, your people, we can all change. We can._

 _I wish_ I _could change._

 _We've been changing from the start._

It was in that tense silence, that Beth drew one particular conclusion.

"You were with The Governor," she whispered quietly.

Lilly looked ashamed.

Ashamed of what? Of sending an entire community of innocent people crashing down with guns and a loaded tank? Forcing them out of their home just because of their greed and hatred. Killing the _children_?

"I didn't . . ." Lilly mumbled, her expression confirming the suspicion, "I didn't know . . ."

"You were with him. You _helped_ him. You helped him wipe us _out_."

"I didn't know who he was! He told us you were all killers. I didn't agree with taking the prison, but he wanted Meghan and us to be safe. He wanted us _all_ to be safe . . . I didn't know there were children in there."

Beth shook her head and stepped back.

"You burned our home. You killed all those people. My _dad_! The Governor put him on his knees and killed him like a dog, then left him there to die in the dirt! Left them _all_! They're dead! An' _YOU_ did that to them!"

Lilly looked both alarmed and confused.

"But you said they were up near D.C. Rick and the others . . . They're alive, aren't they?"

"Not all of us . . . And that's because of _you_."

 _You. You did this._

 _You killed us both._

Lilly's expression was desperate, and she looked like she wanted to respond before her eyes widened and she cried out.

Beth turned just in time to see a walker hobbling over and reaching out to grab her shoulders. Grabbing it by its chin and avoiding its snapping jaws, she thrust the pickaxe up and stabbed until the point skewered the brain, and the thing fell limp against her. She grunted and pushed it off the axe onto the ground, and wiped the blood and pus off her front.

Lilly reached out to help wipe some dirt from her neck, but Beth stepped back and gave her a piercing glare.

"That old man . . ." she said quietly, "Hershel. He was your dad?"

Beth's glare only intensified, and the sting of tears began to prick at her eyes.

She blinked the sting away.

"I'm _sorry_." Lilly whispered, "I didn't know he was capable of doing something like that. When I got to the field, the fighting had already broken out and the fences were down. I had my daughter in my arms . . . A biter got her back at our camp across the river. I carried her over to Bri . . . to _The Governor_ , and he took her from me, and held the barrel of his gun to her head . . . He didn't even flinch when he pulled the trigger."

The stinging returned and Beth's vision was starting to grow blurry, and because of that, she hated that human weakness even more. Hated The Governor, hated Woodbury, and even Lilly to an extent. She wanted to hate them because if she hated them, surely she couldn't hate herself.

How wrong that impression was.

" _How_ could you ever have trusted him?" she cried, "How could you have been so blind?"

Lilly bit the inside of her cheek and looked down at the leaves at her feet. "He was good to me. To Meghan. He took us with him and he didn't abandon us once. Not like my husband. He saved my family when no one else would. He took care of us. Probably just like Rick Grimes took care of you."

"He was _nothin'_ like Rick."

"Can you be sure? I was fooled long enough. Are people really what they seem anymore? . . . Aren't we all the same now?"

 _He didn't seem at all like the man you make him out to be._

 _He chased after him. When he came back . . . Lamson wasn't with him. He was dead . . . because Rick had killed him._

"Rick isn't a monster."

 _He wouldn't stop running._

"We're all monsters inside, Beth. Some of us are just better at keeping it a bay than others."

Beth's mouth tightened into a harsh frown, and her eyes flickered with uncertainty.

Rick, Dawn, The Governor, the walkers, _Negan_.

Who was even the real enemy anymore?

Dwight said she was ruthless. He said she seemed like the silent killer type, the one to slit the enemy's throats in their sleep.

Quiet. Alert. Always calculating a way to target the weaknesses of the opposing force.

 _Dangerous_.

She wasn't sure whether she liked that word being associated with her name anymore.

 _You told Daryl you wanted to change. You told him you wanted to be like him. You said that and you wanted it and you_ got _it. You wrote down your wish. You believed._ He _believed. Because you_ made _him believe in you_ _. . ._ _This is your fault._

 _You got what you wanted, and look what it's done to you._

 _Look what_ he's _done to you._

She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, and they walked on through the willow trees. They walked so far in that the scenery was starting to feel a little like a sort of labyrinth, until they reached what Beth supposed would be the center if this was one of those sick movies where the heroines had to reach their goal, and the goal was something absolutely _horrible_ and disconcerting.

Behind a thin curtain of hanging leaves, at the base of one of the trees . . . was a grave.

A mound of churned soil with a makeshift wooden cross planted at the top, and a rusty shovel clumsily shoved down into the hard earth beside the spectacle, just left there.

Ordinarily, such a thing would not have bothered Beth, rather if anything it would've touched her.

People buried their dead, mourned, and moved on. It was how they survived now. But that wasn't the reasoning for her distress at the sight of the grave . . .

Hanging on top of the wooden cross, dusty and tattered, was a navy woolly beanie.

Beth stared at it.

Even that on its own wouldn't be enough to prove . . . but then . . . she walked closer and inspected the lettering etched into the wood . . . and her heart stopped. Practically, honest to god, _stopped_ in her ribcage, not daring to beat for at least a few seconds.

Lilly walked closer too and stared at the grave.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Wrong? Oh. The wrongness, _so_ much wrongness in one place. It was unearthly, unspiritual . . . Unfair.

Beth planted her hand on the horizontal piece of wood that was making the cross shape and squeezed the edge of the lettering. The lettering that when read together, translated through the brain into one heart-breaking word. Or rather . . . A _name_.

 _TYREESE_

She nearly bit through her tongue.

 _Tyreese._

"Beth?"

 _Tyreese_ _._

" _Beth_?"

 _Ty._

"NO!" she yelped when Lilly tried to put a hand on her arm and slapped it away like the very _thought_ of touch burned her.

Lilly withdrew her hand and held it to her chest, eyes blown wide with shock at the action, and Beth just stared at the wonky carving of Tyreese's name in the wood.

She squeezed the plank harder, almost hard enough to snap it, and felt the tears welling up uncontrollably in her eyes. And this time she knew there was nothing she could do to stop them falling.

One flicker of a memory of Tyreese joining her in the prison kitchens and joining in with her humming a tune, and they came down like _rain_.

She fell from her crouch to her knees with a lumbering cracking of bones, and her shoulders slumped forward along with her head, as she pressed her forehead against the sharp wood of the cross and _screamed_. She dug her blunt nails into the dirty rope hard enough to leave prickling residue beneath the tips, and a sharp piece that was flaking off scraped down her brow beside the healing scar and tore a brand new one.

Lilly gasped at the sight of her cowering there, screaming and crying, and knocking her head against the wood with enough force to tear hundreds of gashes across her lip and cheeks. She leaned down and tried to pull her away from what she was doing, but Beth only thrashed in her hold and fell forward onto her front, rolling away from the grave and into the dry strands of grass at the side. She pushed Lilly off of her and bashed her fist against the ground, tearing up chunks of grass and earth. She must have looked like a child having a tantrum to any onlookers, but right then and there, Beth Greene called _bullshit_ to the rest of the world.

She pushed Lilly away aggressively again and shoved her grimy hands into her hair, smearing the blood from her new cuts around her face.

Lilly finally stopped trying to restrain her and stepped back, and Beth was left to roll around in the dirt and _cry_ hysterically. Cry like she'd _never_ cried before.

 _Thought you said you didn't cry anymore? Lying bitch._

" _Shut_ up!" she spat a mouthful of dirt and saliva, bashing her bullet-burdened head against the ground.

 _You can't make me shut up, that's like telling_ yourself _to shut up. It_ is _telling yourself to shut up._

 _You can't make me go away, you're stuck with me, you wanted to change and I did. I did it for both of us, I did it for_ him _._ You _didn't have the guts to, but_ I _did, and now you're stuck with me, we're stuck with each other. What a blast, huh? What a great, fucking blast._

 _I'm liberated and you're worthless. I'm strong and you're not. I have guts and you have nothin'._

 _You've never had the guts to anythin' other than cry._

"Shutupshutup SHUT _UP_."

She screamed again.

"Beth! _Stop_!" Lilly decided that now was the time to pounce, and dragged her up from where she was laid on the dirt forcefully, and threw a hard _slap!_ across her left cheek.

She stopped screaming.

She stopped doing everything really, but tears were still streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from one of the new scars on her left cheek, that had opened when Lilly's hand had connected with her flesh.

Blood and tears pouring down her face, Beth rose a hand to her burning cheek and looked at Lilly.

She was practically crying too, apparently so overwhelmed by Beth's reaction to the ordeal that it had physically shaken her. The hand that she'd used to slap her with was shaking along with her shoulders, and eventually, she fell to her knees in front of her.

She reached forward and hovered her hands by Beth's cheeks, almost as if she was going to stroke them, but she resisted.

Beth stared at her with gigantic flowing eyes and let out a broken, shaky whine. Because in that moment . . . with her vision blinded by tears, and her head ringing with sharp pain . . . Lilly Chambler looked _exactly_ like Maggie with her short dark hair and her big kind eyes.

And _we don't get to be upset_ , but that made her want to cry even harder.

". . . I'm _sorry_. . ." Lilly whimpered, her own voice risen by the lump in her throat, "I'm so sorry . . . I never wanted to hurt your father . . . I never wanted to hurt _anyone_ . . . I just wanted . . ."

Beth knew. She hadn't wanted that. Of course, she hadn't.

Nobody like her ever wanted to hurt anyone.

Like Beth . . . She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"And this, Tyreese . . . I never . . . Beth, I . . ."

Beth shuffled forward and pulled Lilly into her arms, shoving her dirty face into her neck and whimpering.

She fastened her arms around her back and held her tightly, blinking away the wetness in her eyes and scrubbing at her cheeks with her fists.

Lilly froze when she pulled her in, her whole body going still in shock, but eventually, she melted into the embrace as well, and hugged Beth tightly around her waist. She rubbed her palms up and down her back and sighed against her shoulder, the knotty strands of blonde tickling her cheeks. Beth closed her eyes and pressed her face against Lilly's shoulder, inhaling the deep smell of burning that was caught in the fabric, and felt the blood from her face leaking onto Lilly's shirt.

Soft-spoken Beth crept into her mind then, not cold and ruthless Beth.

 _Kind_ Beth.

Gentle Beth.

She came into her mind and sat beside her crying crumple on the bedspread, and whispered her tender words that she'd learned from Lori, stroking the pieces of stray hairs away from the crying blonde's face.

 _She didn't know_ _. . ._ she said delicately _. She couldn't know. It's not her fault._

 _It's not anyone's fault._

 _She was just the sheep, following behind_ _unaware_ _. You should know_ _. Y_ _ou were the sheep for a long time too. It's not her fault and it's not your fault either. It's not anybody's fault. At least_ _,_ _no one's who's still alive._

 _Put it away._

 _Just put it away._

 _It'll kill you if you d_ _on't_ _put it away._

After a while of sitting there holding each other and crying, Beth and Lilly pulled apart and wiped their sticky eyes.

A look of equilibrium passed between them for just the shortest of seconds, and for the first time Beth felt like something heavy had been withdrawn from on top of her shoulders . . .

Until the sound cut through the moment.

The two of them went still, absolutely still, and listened.

The sound had only been a quiet one, just the snapping of a twig and a few frantic crunches of leaves, but it had still been there.

Somewhere overhead, a bird tweeted, and Beth swallowed a droplet of blood that ran down her tongue. She cringed inwardly at the sharp coppery taste and then heard the sounds again, only more distant this time. Once they'd silenced, Lilly glanced at her bewilderedly and opened her mouth to speak.

"What was—Beth?" she cut herself off, "What're you doing?"

Beth rose to her feet and yanked the pickaxe back out of the ground. She wiped the remaining snot and tears from her cheeks, passed the grave beneath the willow tree a long lingering look, and balled her fist tightly.

Before she stalked off, she leaned down and plucked the hole-filled beanie from its perch on the wooden cross and stuffed it into her back jean pocket, then walked off quickly in the direction the noise had scurried off to.

Those movements were too deliberate to be an animal . . . Too aware.

Cautious, but panicked upon making a mistake and messing up that sense of caution.

Too intellectually conscious.

"I'm gonna . . . I'm gonna find out what made that noise," she answered, her voice sore from screaming and crying, "Or rather, _who_. We gotta know what kind of person was listenin' in on us. And _watchin'_ us. We gotta know what they want, and if they're a threat."

Lilly stood up.

"What do we do if they _are_ a threat? What if we walk right into a trap?"

 _We'll deal with it, right?_

 _Right._

"We'll handle that when it comes to it. Hopefully, it won't come to that."

She walked through the woods quickly with Lilly right on her tail, axe drawn and ears perked sharply.

Whoever had made the noise was being remarkably clever about not making _another_ one, and it was nearly impossible to detect any further movement.

But not _completely_ impossible.

Beth drew her gun. "Come out," she called, throat feeling like sandpaper and eyes trained on a cluster of especially thick trees up ahead.

The vicinity was silent.

"We don't wanna hurt you," she added, "Just come out and prove you're not a danger to us. Then you can go."

She could feel Lilly passing her fast unsure looks, and for a moment she herself was unsure of there actually being anyone behind those trees . . .

Until a figure stepped out into their line of vision.

A man strode out slowly from behind the wall of trees, with his hands held high in a sign of amity and no kind of weapon drawn. He had unnaturally well-maintained features, neatly trimmed curls and a clean-shaven jaw, and his flesh lacked the usual grime one came to have from weeks of living amongst blood and sweat.

"Hello," he said, his voice holding no signs of hostility, but still Beth held up the gun at him.

"Who are you?" she asked tentatively, conscious of the way her throat sounded cracked and dry, and for a moment she wondered if he'd paid witness to her little scene back there beneath the willows.

He stopped coming closer when he saw the look of wild spook and warning on her face, but still kept his hands up by the sides of his head.

"My name is Aaron," he replied slowly, "And I can assure you, and anyone else for that matter, that I mean you no harm."

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Aaaaand there you go. Are you excited or do you wanna punch me for the cliffhanger? (pls don't hurt me)

The scene where Beth discovers Tyreese's grave is something I've had planned for a long time now, and was one of the original initial ideas I had when creating the basis for this story, so writing one of those key scenes was pretty emotional for me. I did the geography and pin-pointed Ty's burial site at approximately a bit of a ways before Richmond, Virginia, because Rick and the gang were on their way back south to the rest of the group when he passed away, meaning they would've buried him miles south of Noah's fallen home as opposed to right on the outskirts of Richmond.

As for Beth's breakdown/cry fest... Honestly, it was always coming. She'd held onto it for so long without any clear proof of her family's whereabouts, and after blow after blow after blow... Finding out Lilly's past with The Governor and finding out about Tyreese's death all in the same moment, that was just an overwhelming scene for her. We forget, and Beth _herself_ forgets, that she's just a girl. Just an eighteen/nineteen year old girl with such a heavy weight on her shoulders, and someone as wishful and gentle as her just can't carry all of that like Rick can without reaching a breaking point.

But like I said, this story isn't just misery porn (the show gives us quite enough of that) and I like to think that there's a light at the end of the tunnel, and in this case that's what Aaron is for the narrative.

A light.

Hope you enjoyed reading and are looking forward to more, again please don't hurt me lmao, and let me know what you thought in a review. Don't shout at me though because then I cry :') jk


	32. All around me are familiar faces

**Author's Corner**

Thanks so much for all the great feedback y'all! You rock. As a reward, I think you'll all like this chapter... So let me know what you think when you're done reading. :)

 **Disclaimer:** I don't get paid for writing this shit.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

"What do you want?" Lilly asked, her own gun raised and pointed at the man who called himself Aaron.

"I'm just passing through," he insisted, his hands still held upward, "I'm from up north with a couple of friends. We have no intention of hurting you, I promise."

Beth's skin was on edge.

"Where are your friends now?" she asked skeptically.

"One of them is hurt. The others are looking out for him. Like I said, we're just passing through."

"Passing through to where?"

"No place really."

"Passin' through to _where_?"

The naïve neutral aspect of his expression faltered and he almost looked like he was starting to panic. It probably didn't help that her already dry and hoarse tone had lowered an octave when she repeated the question.

The weight of Tyreese's hat was burning a hole in her back jean pocket, and she swallowed the gritty lump in her throat and coughed into her shoulder.

"Atlanta," he said finally, "We're on . . . our way to Atlanta."

Her brow creased at that.

"Atlanta?" Lilly repeated, confused, "That's hundreds of miles away. In Georgia. Why do you want to go there?"

"We're looking for someone."

"I just came from Atlanta," Beth piped up, "There's nothin' there anymore. It's dead."

"Not _entirely_ dead, according to what I've heard from some folks."

Beth's fingers squeezed the holt of the gun and she bit her lip. Lilly passed her another look and she honestly felt at a loss at what do to.

She wanted to believe this man.

Aaron.

She wanted to believe him, and the worst part was probably that she _did_ believe him. He didn't seem like the type of person to be deceitful or manipulate others by untruths, but then again . . . Looks were always the main deceit now.

 _You should still give strangers the benefit of the doubt,_ naïve Beth insisted, but cynical Beth was just chanting, _Liar. Liar. LIAR._

 _But where would_ you _be without the benefit of the doubt? Where would you be if Daddy had turned Rick and the others away out of mistrust? And if Rick had left you on the farm instead of helping you?_ _You'd be dead in the ashes of the fallen barn house, trampled and devoured by all those walkers._

 _You know you would._

"This friend of yours," she inquired, "How badly is he injured?"

Aaron seemed surprised by that.

"Not _horribly_ ," he said, "We ran into some trouble a way back and he was shot in the shoulder. We managed to stop the bleeding but we're not exactly doctors and we're pretty much out of antibiotics."

Beth could feel Lilly watching her intently as she chewed the inside of her cheek thoughtfully.

 _Where would you be?_

 _Don't do it._

 _Where would you be?_

Don't _. You idiot._

She lowered the gun but didn't sheath it. It hung by her side still in her hand as she stared at the stranger, eyes flickering with inner conflict and irritation at herself.

 _You'd be dead._

 _Dead like Daddy, Tyreese, and anyone else_ _they've_ _lost along the way._

 _That's the hard truth._

". . . We can help you," she said finally, and Aaron's eyebrows shot up at the statement.

"You can?" he asked.

"Beth?" Lilly whispered in question, but Beth just shot her a sharp glance.

"Yes." she nodded, returning her attention to the man, "But in return, I want you to tell me who you're lookin' for in Atlanta."

"Well, I _guess_ I can tell you," he mumbled, "But why do you wanna know? Like you said, the city's pretty much dead. Not a lot of people left back there."

"That's exactly why I wanna know."

He pursed his lips and lowered his hands.

". . . Ok," he said, "There's a doctor who lives in Atlanta, the Slabtowns vicinity specifically. We need a doctor for . . . someone back home. And he's the only one we know of that's still alive, or at least _was_ still alive the last time my friends saw him. We used to have a doctor, but he's gone now . . . They all are. Does that answer your question?"

The gun dropped from Beth's fingers and this time Lilly shared the exact same reaction.

Shock. Complete and genuine _shock_.

Edwards. This man, this strange man that none of them had ever seen before, was looking for _Edwards_. Because he needed his help. Because he had friends who knew about Edwards and where he was, who would've had to have seen him before . . .

Oh.

. . . No.

It wasn't . . .

 _No_.

"Is something wrong?" Aaron asked, unnerved by their mirrored reactions to his answer.

Wrong? Oh no. Not wrong. Impossible? Probably. Unlikely? Absolutely. But _wrong_?

Wrong was thefarthest from it.

"Who are your friends?" Beth asked, her expression still frozen with disbelief and now a little desperation.

And _hope_.

There was hope in her question.

 _You know Rick Grimes. You do. Please. Tell me you do._

"What do you mean? Which ones?"

"Who are your friends?" she repeated, firmer, much more desperate this time, "Give me some names. Just a few. Don't ask why. Please."

"Um . . . The ones I'm with? Ok . . . I got an Abraham. Abraham Ford. Rosita Espinosa. "

The names seemed to trail off into nothing, and that tiny sliver of hope that had sparked in Beth started to fade away.

Until he came to the third name.

"What was that?" she stammered, "The last one. What did you say?"

"Daryl Dixon."

There it was.

Beth's heart rate shot up by at least a few more beats and Lilly looked at her with confusion written plain across her face. The pickaxe was the next weapon to drop, falling flat on the leafy earth with a soft _crunch!_ Because there was no way, absolutely no way in hell that this scenario was by any means possible on any planet or in any dimension. Because there was no possible way that all these events and happenings could line up just right and have Beth Greene and Daryl Dixon line up and potentially collide once more . . .

And yet.

Here they were.

Aaron and Lilly both stared at her with the widest bewilderment, brows creasing and confused frowns flickering, but Beth could only utter two whispered words under her breath.

"Oh god . . ."

Before Aaron or Lilly could ask what was the matter with her, another figure came striding out from behind the trees and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the situation before him.

"No no no, wait!" Aaron cried as Beth and Lilly reached for their guns on the ground, "Don't shoot, he's a friend! Right, Abraham?"

 _Abraham_ was a giant of a man, tall and widely built, with great big shoulders and muscles. His hair was a flaming red and he bore a wild equally red handlebar moustache. He stood just behind Aaron with an assault rifle balanced in his arms and scanned the scene with his eyes.

Until his gaze moved to fall on her.

He squinted at first, for some reason getting a good long look at her, before his eyes widened and his jaw slowly began to hang open, and an odd sense of _realisation_ came to rest upon his features.

"Holy mother of all things _shit_ _. . ._ " he drawled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"What is it?" Aaron asked his companion.

Abraham continued to stare at her, his head still shaking slowly, and he lowered his rifle to his side. For some reason, she thought he was trembling, though it might have been an invention of her mind, because why would this stranger wobble like jelly at the sight of her, another stranger?

"This girl . . ." he mumbled, his voice cracking with something that sounded almost like shame. She couldn't imagine why. "The blonde one. I thought my eyes were playin' tricks on me . . . but they're not. The bandage around her head proves it. Do you have any idea who this girl _is_?"

Beth was confused. This was the first time she'd ever seen this man, Abraham, yet he was staring at her like she was some grand being he'd re-discovered after years of searching. Like he'd won in a game of lost and found, and she was the lost thing, and he was the finder.

The shame, though, unnerved her. There was shame in his eyes. She saw it clearly now. She wondered why it was there.

"Lord of the dicks . . . ," he shook his head, "That's _Beth Greene_."

She was even more shocked by that.

Aaron was confused as well. "Who?" he asked, "What do you mean? Are you trying to say that you know her?"

"I don't know her personally, but I do know _of_ her. And there's also the one and only time I ever saw her, being carried outta the hospital in Atlanta . . . _dead_."

"What?!"

Abraham continued to stare at her, and Beth felt her eyes wobbling with disbelief and puzzlement as he stepped towards her.

He came to stand just before her and Lilly, the hairs on his moustache tangled and wiry up close, and studied her properly. His eyes fell on the piece of cloth wound around her head, and he shook his head again, raising a hand to rub his moustache roughly.

The way he'd said the word dead had caused the hairs to prickle along her skin, and she almost thought she'd seen him wince as it rolled off his tongue.

Like a rotten fruit.

A bad taste in his mouth.

"Mother _dick_."

"I don't understand," she blurted, "Who are you? I've never seen you before in my life, but you're talking like you know me. Who _are_ you, and how do you know about what happened?"

He surprised them all by releasing a hearty laugh and he rubbed the back of his head, grinning widely. But that strange uncomfortable look was still in his eyes, driving her mad with confusion.

"Course," he said, "You don't know who I am. We never got the chance to properly meet. I'm Abraham. I'm with your group. I'm with _Rick._ And you . . . _You_ , Beth Greene, are a solid vanilla _miracle_ in a sea of rotting toffee shit."

 _Oh god_.

"You . . ."

Words escaped her.

This whole thing was so impossible and overwhelming. Every thought she'd ever had had been replaced with Abraham's words and just, _Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh god._

Abraham's smirk widened.

"And I have a feeling that one battered redneck with a bullet stuck in his back is gonna be _hella_ pleased to see you."

 _Pulled out his gun and shot her bang in the middle of the head._

 _Carrying you down the flights of stairs._

 _Oh god._

She could feel the tears building. Not anguished tears or tired tears or angry tears. Happy tears. Thankful tears. Disbelieving and overwhelmed tears.

 _The look on his face after he shot Dawn._

 _How he carried you._

 _Oh, GOD._

 _You give up too easily,_ hopeful Beth beamed. _The world isn't just screams and awfulness. It's dark and dreary, sure, but it's not all complete rui_ _n . . ._

 _There needs to be light for you to know when it's dark. There needs to be hope for you to know there's despair._

 _And it wouldn't kill you to have just a little bit of faith._

.

.

Edwards recognised the woman that came upon their vehicle blockade on the road.

It was surprising, but he was almost one hundred percent sure that he'd seen her before. And _where_ he'd seen her before . . . It was hilariously unlikely.

She was a petite woman, with long graceful limbs and dark hair scooped up into a messy ponytail that was partially covered by a faded army hat. Her eyes were dark and cautious, and she held her scope rifle with both hands right in Dwight's direction.

"Who the fuck're _you_?" Dwight spat, bow loaded and at her in retort.

The woman's eyes narrowed and her rosy lips tightened, but she offered no reply.

Edwards watched her feral expression from behind Shepherd and Tanaka, and let his mind wander back to the last time he'd seen her. Because he was _impossibly_ sure that she had been there. With _them_. Standing witness to Daryl carrying his chipped and broken doll out into the parking lot . . .

"I'll say it again," Dwight said venomously, "Who. The fuck. _Are_ you?"

"Rosita," she snapped sharply, her tongue rolling with the _R_.

"Well, _Rosita_ , what d'ya want?"

"Not trouble."

Dwight laughed, " _Not trouble_? Yer the one who pointed a gun at us! If ya didn't want trouble, why'd ya go ahead and do that?"

Her eyes narrowed even more, and Dwight seemed to be losing his patience at her silence.

Edwards glanced over at Effy, who too had her weapon drawn and was hiding Gregg behind her and letting him clutch her thigh tightly. The doctor stared at her for a while and then looked back at the woman.

 _Rosita_.

That name was new to him, but the face was not. Beth hadn't written about anyone called Rosita, yet this woman had rolled up in the hospital parking lot with the others and rose a hand to her mouth in devastation.

But even so, if this woman had been with them then, then maybe . . . Maybe.

"If you don't start talkin' soon—"

"Wait!"

Dwight glanced back at Edwards with a murderous gaze for the interruption and the doctor swallowed. Effy passed him a confused glance as well, but he kept his ground and squeezed his fists.

". . . I've seen this woman before," he said, surprising everyone, including Rosita.

"You _what_?" Dwight spat.

Shepherd leaned in, "Where have you seen her before? She's a stranger to me."

Edwards chewed his lip. Shepherd had been like the rest of the officers and wards in the sense that she wouldn't walk over to the window and look down into the parking lot at the scene before. Hadn't had the courage to take a peek. Instead, she'd helped pick up Dawn's body and dispose of it, whilst Edwards stood by the window staring down at the man with the angel wings on his back carrying the girl who sang out to the rest of their group.

Their _family_ , like Beth had said. No system, no one taking advantage, just a close-knit group of strangers who'd come together and become a family.

 _No debts owed._

Rosita was watching him too, and Edwards knew that sooner or later he would have to say something, or they would lose what was possibly their only chance of pursuing their goal.

One last chance.

"She was at the hospital . . . Back in Atlanta," he said, "She's with Rick's group."

Her eyes widened at that and she ever so slightly lowered her gun. Her brows were knitted with confusion and a brief sense of dread, and Edwards felt his heart rate quicken at the thought that they might actually have found someone that could _help_ them clear a few spaces forward on the chess board.

Morgan lowered his gun and stared at the woman. "Is that true?" he asked her, "You're with Rick Grimes?"

She blinked, brows now drawn up and pieces of dark hair falling from behind her ears against her cheeks.

"Yeah," she said slowly, "I am."

Morgan beamed, and the majority of the group seemed to relax, but not Dwight of course.

"Hold up," he said, "If you're wit' those guys, then where are they now?"

"They're all back the way I came," she replied, "Home. Only a few of us are down here searching."

"Searching for what?" Mark asked.

Rosita looked unsure if she should respond at first but finally gave in because of Edwards's confession and Morgan's desperate elated expression.

"For a doctor," she said, "We're looking for a doctor. There's one in Atlanta we think can help us. We need him."

"Dr. Edwards?" Edwards asked frantically, "Dr. Steven Edwards, right? From Grady Memorial Hospital?"

The surprise continued to bloom in her features.

" _Yeah_. How did you—?"

"Because that's _me_. _I'm_ the doctor from Atlanta. _I'm_ Steven Edwards."

Her lips parted and she lowered her gun, then shook her head slowly in disbelief.

"No. You can't—"

"He is," Shepherd cut her off, "I'm from Grady too. The hospital's fallen so we had to run. We're not lying, I swear to you. We know Beth Greene. You know her too, right?"

Any trace of doubt in Rosita's expression melted away, and she lowered her gun completely. Edwards's chest sparked at the mention of Beth when he realised that this woman might not even be aware that she was _alive_. That she was _with_ them right now.

That she'd been fighting to get home to them all this time.

Before he could bring it up, everything shot full throttle ahead.

"Please," Rosita breathed desperately, "We need your help. It's Maggie—Beth's sister—she's pregnant and something's wrong. _Very_ wrong. Please, we need your help, we've got no one else to turn to. All the other doctors and surgeons are dead."

 _All the other doctors and surgeons are dead._

Maggie. Beth's sister. The one who had collapsed to her knees and wailed like a beaten dog, stripped of its kin and left the runt of the litter. If there was something wrong with her, Beth would absolutely want him to help.

But it wasn't even about that for him. Not anymore.

He didn't want to do this just for Beth. He wanted to do it because it was the _right_ thing to _do_ , and that was what you had to do in this world if you wanted to prove you were worth something.

You had to rise above and transcend.

"I'll help," he agreed, "I'll come with you and I'll help her."

Rosita almost smiled in utter joy.

Dwight stopped him when he stepped forward. "Hold on a sec here, Doc. You really wanna go doin' this?"

Instead of cowering and secreting his gaze, Edwards tightened his lips and stared at Dwight firmly.

"It's Beth's _sister_ ," he combated, "She'll want me to do this."

Dwight seemed startled by his lack of skittishness.

"I ain't sayin' she won't," he said after recovering from the initial shock, "But she ain't back yet, so we can't just go off followin' some chick with a rifle that we don't even know. Shit like that's dangerous. Shit like that gets people _killed_."

"Then we wait," Shepherd said firmly.

"Wait for what?" Rosita asked upon overhearing a fragment of their conversation.

Before Edwards could reply with the good news, a strangled cry broke out from within the trees and tore through the setting, closely followed by a loud gunshot.

Rosita's head whipped in the direction of the noises and she gasped.

Before anyone could speak, she took off running.

 _No!_ Edwards's subconscious shouted, and his legs automatically began working and carried him off after her, because he was simply _not_ going to let her get away.

Not now that they'd come so far and were so close.

Shepherd and Tanaka came jogging behind him, as well as Morgan and Dwight, who'd quickly given Mark strict orders to keep the group safe during his absence. They all chased after Rosita as she ran through the woods like a bounding deer, and heaved deep breaths as they struggled to keep up with her. And all Edwards could think was, _Why is she running? Why is she running_ _away?_

 _It's all we ever do. All of us. We're running and we're never going to stop._

 **.**

 **.**


	33. Angel of steel

**Author's Corner**

I felt bad for the way I ended the last chapter and because of the cliffhanger, so I'm giving you the next chapter a little earlier than usual.

Without giving too much away... I think you're going to like this chapter.  
You'll probably want to scream with joy but at the same time you'll probably want to strangle me... So.

Enjoy.

 **Disclaimer:** don't own TWD.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

.

.

Edwards hadn't been sure what he'd expected when he'd gone chasing the strange woman with the familiar face, but it certainly wasn't this.

He bounded through the woods on Rosita's tail, muscles burning from how fast he was running, and his breath coming out in sharp laboured pants. Some of the others had followed him—he could hear them shouting from behind—but he didn't turn to reply. He kept his gaze fixed on Rosita's springing legs and swinging ponytail, and tried to regulate his breathing whilst maintaining his running pace.

A branch came out of nowhere and slapped him straight in the cheek, knocking him sideways slightly and forcing him to close his eyes in a pained wince. His glasses slid down his nose a little and threatened to fall off, so he reached up a swinging arm and pushed them back. When he re-opened his eyes, he saw the trees up ahead disappear, along with the ground, and he went sliding down a small rocky slope.

He hit the bottom hard on his backside and his glasses did fall off then.

Trying to blink the natural haziness of his vision away, he fumbled around on the ground with his hands in an almost comical _I-can't-find-my-glasses_ mannerism. Having eventually found them, he picked them up and shoved them back onto his face, grimacing at the ferocious crack snaking up the left lens.

Rosita was nowhere to be seen, nor were any of the others that had followed him following her.

Heart pounding in his ears, Edwards clambered to his feet, dusted off his backside, and reached for the knife at his hip. He held it tightly in his hand and ventured forwards away from the rocky slope, towards the noises that sounded an awful lot like _moaning_.

But not walker moans.

People moans. _Alive_ moans.

Moans of _pain_.

The steadily quieting groans lead him to a series of crevices in another wall of rock, and he listened closely to find out which opening the sounds were coming from.

Deciding on which cave to enter, he held up his knife and wandered in slowly, pulse crazy and hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Inside the cave was dark, and the path felt almost like a descent down into hell, but still, Edwards forced some bravery out of himself.

 _Be brave, be brave, be brave._

 _Don't let the monsters scare you._

He may be one big fat coward, but he was still a _doctor_ , and if a person was hurt down here . . . then he was going to do everything in his power to help them. Dawn and her saving resources be _damned_.

The rocks beneath his feet grew uneven at some point, and he nearly slipped on a stretch of the wet surface.

Water ran down the walls the deeper he went, and wherever he put his hand for support was slimy and sprouting underground moss. He gripped his knife tighter and readjusted his glasses when a muffled grunt of pain echoed towards him in the cave tunnel.

Swallowing, Edwards tightened his lips and strode down the passageway until he reached a large opening. And what he found in that opening, made him drop his knife in bewilderment.

A _man_ was on his knees in the cave, hunched over and heaving in pain, with a dim lamp on the ground beside his pack and sleeping bag. He wore all black and his hair was dark—covering his face like a curtain—and the darkness seemed to swallow him because of it. The only pieces of light were his hands and his neck until he lifted his head to glance up through his hanging fringe and give a broken, animalistic snarl.

Sweat and blood clung to him, illuminated by the orange glow of the lamp, and his cutting sunken eyes glared at him like tiny slits wrapped in dark fatigued rings. His jaw was hard and clenched, like he was in pain, and because of his tragic appearance, Edwards didn't recognise him right away.

Until he did.

" _Oh my god_ ," he whispered, and the man practically snarled again.

That there on the floor, looking beaten and bloody, growling at him like a savage dog . . . was none other than Daryl Dixon.

Edwards stared at him, his own eyes bulging out of his head at the sight, only Daryl didn't seem to share the look of recognition.

". . . What the _fuck_ d'you want, prick?" he spat, his voice laced with venom and cracked, like his voice box had been mutilated and was now permanently broken.

Edwards shivered.

". . . Hey," he said hesitantly, "It's me. It's me . . . Don't you . . . ?"

The blind hatred in Daryl's eyes only doubled, and he started to move agonisingly and reach for the gun that was laid by his pack, which was surely responsible for the loud gunshot they'd heard earlier, the cave amplifying the sound and broadcasting it out like a radio station.

The blanket that was draped around him slipped down from his shoulders, and Edwards saw the bloody mess on his right shoulder.

Dried blood painted his entire upper arm, and a crappy bandage had been stuck over the wound which had re-opened and was rapidly bleeding through the fabric. Edwards glanced down at something his feet had connected with when he attempted to come closer, and saw the fallen corpse of a walker on the ground. It must have wandered in and attacked, forcing him Daryl to shoot the gun, and defending himself had worsened his condition.

But why was he down here alone? And what had happened to make him look so . . . _dead_?

 _Alarmingly_ dead.

The man looked like a ghost with his sickly pale skin, dark rings painted around his eyes, and the mess of his shoulder.

He was still reaching for the blade and wincing, so Edwards stepped over the walker corpse quickly and stopped him.

"Don't do that," he said quietly, "Please, Daryl. Don't do that."

Daryl stilled with alarm at the mention of his name and turned his dull narrow eyes onto Edwards.

"Don't you recognise me? You might not in the state you're in, and because of how _I_ look, but it's me. Dr. Steven Edwards. From Grady. You're looking for me . . . Right?"

Daryl stopped trying to pick up the gun and just stared.

He stared at him with less dripping hatred and concealed fear, but his gaze contained something else now as Edwards asked to let him help, and slowly unpeeled the crappy bandage wrappings from his shoulder. There was an indifference to his sickly expression. An uncomfortable vacancy.

He looked at Edwards, recognised him, accepted his help . . . but there was no _relief_ in his eyes upon finding him, which was supposedly their goal according to Rosita.

There was nothing in Daryl Dixon's eyes when he stared at him.

Just nothing.

Almost a secret daring for his wound _not_ to heal, in fact. An almost mocking gaze that dared Edwards to, instead of helping him . . . finish the job.

It was unnerving.

Noticing the pail of water that had been left by the pack, Edwards ripped some pieces of bandage cloth and soaked them in the water, then wiped them across the bleeding gash and cleaned it. It was a bullet wound, he saw then, no bullet stuck in the hole though, it had just torn through and probably left a dusting of metal filings, which looked to have been plucked out by his companions already.

The wound wasn't particularly _bad_ now that he'd properly looked at it, but still, Daryl looked worse than so many patients Edwards had seen with _worse_ injuries. The vacancy of his expression, and the limpness of his slouch . . . It was all very alarming, and then Edwards understood the true nature of the man's torture.

He wasn't trying.

He wasn't physically attempting to kill himself, or deliberately forcing himself into such a bad state, but he wasn't particularly _fighting_ it either.

He was just accepting it, like he didn't care what became of him. Like he was just a shell, and he had no objection to the scrawny, slimy creature inside clawing its way out. And a man without a sense of will or motivation was not a man at all. He was just a dead thing, still walking out of sheer habit. And like the inevitability of the world burning . . . He would eventually walk onto a field of landmines and be blown to pieces.

"Daryl—!"

Edwards turned to find Rosita in the entryway to the inner cavern, her rifle raised and her face filled with alarm.

She relaxed a little when she realised it was him, but Daryl's awful condition wasn't exactly one to ease worries.

"Relax," Edwards said calmly, "I'm taking care of him."

Rosita lowered her gun and stepped over the walker corpse to kneel beside them, pushing some of Daryl's hair out of his face to feel his forehead. Daryl groaned at her fussing and edged away, causing him to wince even more at the pain in his shoulder.

"Stay still," Edwards instructed, dabbing at the wound and applying pressure on it to try to stop the bleeding.

Daryl looked at him with those narrow vacant slits and breathed hoarsely, shadows crawling across his face like creatures, and some moisture from the cave trickling down his ghostly pale cheeks.

Rosita stopped fussing and shifted over to the bag, digging through it for something, leaving Edwards to clean the injury.

As he was wiping the wound, he couldn't help but turn his mind to the messy scrawls of ink patterned across the lined paper in Beth's journal. The words that carried stories of a man with leather wings on his back and a heavenly weapon in his arms. A man who was loud and broken, but was so unbelievably kind and gentle, like a little boy wearing the armour of a man. A man she admired, followed, _believed_ in . . .

This was not the man she'd described.

This man was smaller. Hollow. Beaten. A look of defeat painted his features. Flames of sadness caressed his sunken eyes. And he didn't have wings on his back.

 _I get it now._

 _Oh_ _,_ _Beth_ , he found himself thinking gloomily. _Why did you do that? Why did you go and do that?_

 _You might as well have pulled the trigger yourself and aimed it at him too._

 _You weren't the only one who died in that corridor._

"Here," Rosita broke him out of his thoughts and handed him something she'd pulled out of the bag.

It was a box of painkillers, barely any in the packet, but a few still left.

He took them and made Daryl swallow them, trying to avoid the dull glare in his eyes, and pressed some bandage to his shoulder. Taking the tape from Rosita, he patched the wrappings up in place and dragged the blanket up slowly to cover his shoulder.

"What're ya doin' up here?" he grunted quietly, and Rosita looked at Edwards for an answer too.

Edwards's pulse quickened.

They didn't know.

They _couldn't_.

They'd _left_ her.

They wouldn't leave her if they didn't know she was alive, would they? The people described in the ink scrawls in the journal surely wouldn't. Maggie Greene wouldn't, and neither would Rick Grimes . . .

So why _had_ they?

"I—"

His answer was cut off by a loud static sound coming from the bag, as well as what sounded like Rosita's name, and Rosita leaned down and withdrew a large radio.

She pressed down the button and spoke into the receiver.

"Abraham? Are you there?"

Edwards didn't recognise that name either, but he supposed he must be with the group as well just like Rosita. They were bound to have made new additions to their party, met new people, forged new friendships.

Just like Beth.

Static sounded for a few seconds before a male voice replied through the receiver.

" _Yeah_ ," he drawled, " _It's me, I'm wit' Aaron_."

"What's wrong?"

A chuckle.

" _You ain't gonna believe this, but I got the best news. Literally,_ _the biggest mindfuck of the century. You're not gonna believe me_ _when I tell ya._ "

"What? What is it?"

" _You'll never guess who I'm standin' next to right now_ _. Y_ _ou'll never_ _—_ "

A loud crackle shot through Abraham's dialogue, and several cries of distress sounded through the radio.

Rosita called the man's name over and over but he didn't respond, the only sound audible in the dim cave being the cries of dismay and struggle.

Eventually, the radio cut out completely, and Edwards looked at Rosita with bewilderment.

"Abraham?" she called into the radio, " _Abraham_? What's happening?"

Static was the only sound on the other end, and eventually, Rosita stood up and made to leave the cavern.

"Wait!" Edwards called, "Where are you going?"

"To find out what's happening. If something's wrong—"

"But what about Daryl?"

She glanced down at the man with a conflicting expression and bit her lip. Before she could respond, the radio flared back to life and a female voice spoke.

" _Hello?_ _Hello, is anyone_ _there_ _?_ " it called, and Edwards recognised it instantly.

"Who—?" Rosita started before Edwards grabbed the radio from her and cut her off.

"Lilly!" he shouted, "It's me, Steven, what's going on?"

A breath of relief at his voice crackled through the radio and she replied quickly.

" _We were in the forest when we ran into two men. Aaron and Abraham, they called themselves, they said they knew Rick. They were going to radio in with whoever's on this end of the line with you, but then_ they _came!_ "

"Who came? You're being too vague, who's _they_?"

Rosita grabbed the radio back.

"It was the Saviors, wasn't it?" she asked, "What did they do? Where are they now?"

 _The Saviors_.

Edwards knew _that_ name.

" _They_ _. . ._ _They attacked! They're still attacking! They've got Aaron and Abraham, I don't know where they are now, and they're still shooting! I'm behind a tree, they can't see me_."

"What about Beth?" he asked, "Did you find her?"

" _Yeah. She got away_ _. She's gone to warn the others_."

He nodded slowly and missed the way that Daryl's forehead crinkled in confusion at the sound of Beth's name.

"How many are there?" Rosita asked, "Can you see?"

" _I don't know. Ten? Fifteen? I'm not sure. I can try_ _—_ "

Lilly's sentence was cut short by a loud snap and a screech of pain, presumably hers, and Edwards panicked. The static returned and no response from Lilly came, no matter how many times they called her name.

Rosita swore.

Casting a glance at Daryl, who was still sat on the floor with a blanket hung around his shoulders, she turned her attention to Edwards.

"Stay here with him," she said, "Please. I can't leave him alone again."

An idea sparked in Edwards's head.

"I'll take him to my group," he said, "They're not too far away. You saw the RV and the cars, he'll be safer with us. But where are _you_ going?"

"I'm going to get them back."

"Are you fuckin' _crazy_?" Daryl tried to get up, "No way you're goin' in that on your own, they'll . . . !"

He collapsed to his knees before he could finish and broke out into a chain of strangled coughs.

Edwards and Rosita crouched down and kept him upright whilst he choked, and he lifted his pale face to stare at them.

"You _ain't_ goin'." he spat venomously.

"What else are we supposed to do?"

Edwards waved his hands to calm them both and pushed his cracked glasses back up his nose. "Stop, don't argue. I know you're worried about your friends. I'm worried about Lilly. But Daryl's right. You can't go after them alone. You'll get yourself killed."

" _They'll_ get killed if I don't!"

"Maybe not. If we all go back to where my group is, we can figure something out. We'll get them back, we will, I promise we'll find a way to get them back. But this . . . This isn't the way to do it. That's just acting on passion and impulse. Doing that would be stupid . . . and doing stupid things in this world gets you killed."

Daryl looked at him with a strange glint in his eyes.

 _I get it now._

Rosita bit down on her lip again before giving Daryl one last long look, and then she nodded.

"All right." she said, "Take us back to your group."

Edwards thought that if Beth were here now, she'd be smiling at him.

"Follow me."

.

.

Beth ran through the trees like a flying bullet, hair plastered to her neck and ponytail bobbing ferociously behind her. She sprinted down the muddy paths and shoved spiky branches out of the way with Molly's pickaxe, and didn't even stop when she nearly tripped over a particularly thick root.

They'd come out of nowhere, the Saviors. They'd just _appeared_ and attacked, and now the men who knew Rick and the others were gone, and maybe even Lilly too.

She had to get back to the others, she had to get back, she had to . . .

The sound of a bullet firing somewhere in the distance forced Beth to stop in her tracks and turn her head.

There was no one in sight and the woods had gone silent, but her nerves were fiercely on edge. Tightening her lips, she gripped the pickaxe and carried on running back towards where the RV and the cars were. Pushing some branches out of the way with her arms, she darted out onto the road and ran towards Mark, yelling to get his attention.

"Where's Dwight?!" she asked, head whipping in different directions to try and pinpoint the missing individual, "And Morgan!? And—"

Mark cut her off with an answer, "A woman showed up just after you and Lilly left, she said her name was Rosita. Edwards said he knew her so he went following after when she ran away, so Dwight, Morgan, Shepherd, and Tanaka all went after _him_."

Panic swelled in Beth's chest and she tried to contain it.

"They can't be out there! _Nobody_ can! It's not safe!"

"Why isn't it safe?" asked Effy, jogging over with Gregg's hand clasped in hers.

"The Saviors," Beth answered, her voice still hoarse, "A group of people Dwight used to be with for a while after he left Savannah the first time. They're here. I don't know why, but they are, and they're gonna kill _all_ of us if they find us."

Mark's expression fell.

"Is Lilly . . . ?" he asked.

" _No_. Well, I'm not sure, but we gotta get outta here, _now_."

Mark called Matty over and the group piled onto the RV with worried conversations, whilst Beth took Effy by the shoulders and made her swear to keep herself and Gregg safe. Before she could jog after Mark towards the front car, a cry broke through the trees and snatched her attention.

"Beth!"

She turned and saw Edwards staggering out from the treeline, alongside a woman he was helping carry, and . . .

 _Holy Father above_.

She stuffed the pickaxe back into her belt and sprinted over to where Edwards and the strange woman were dragging the unconscious _Daryl Dixon,_ with his arms draped over both their shoulders.

They wobbled towards her and she met them halfway, hands coming up to hover just over his sickly pale cheeks, which were covered by his long dark bangs.

His skin was coated in grime, but still a luminous white, and the purple rings around his closed eyes were bruised and swollen. She held her shaking hands up to cover her mouth and stared at him with wobbly eyes, before shifting her gaze to Edwards and shaking her head, hands falling from cupping her mouth.

"How did you . . . ?" she practically trembled, "Where . . . ?"

Edwards grinned, despite the situation, and glanced at his female companion on the other side of Daryl.

 _Daryl_.

There he was.

Daryl Dixon.

"This is Rosita," he said, "She knows Rick. She came here looking for me to help Maggie. Daryl was with her, along with those other two men I think you've met. Where's Lilly?"

"She . . . She stayed behind. She told me to go and warn the others . . ."

The words were directed at Edwards, but she couldn't tear her eyes from Daryl's slumped, sickly figure.

"What's wrong with him?" she asked, her voice scratchy and high-pitched.

"He was shot," Rosita answered, "The Saviors have been chasing us. We thought we gave them the slip a good few miles back, but I guess not. He lost consciousness just a little while ago whilst we were on our way here. I didn't . . ."

She stared at Beth, her dark eyes wide and glistening, and her lips were parted with shock.

"I can't believe it's _you_ ," she breathed, "I saw you come out of that hospital, I saw him carrying you, but you're _here_ _. . ._ You're _alive_."

A genuine smile stretched across Beth's lips and she felt the tears in her eyes welling up even more.

 _You made it._

"We can talk about that later, but right now we gotta get out of here. We gotta go."

"But what about Lilly?" Edwards asked, "And Dwight? Have they come back yet?"

She shook her head, "No, but we can't stay here, we'll be sitting ducks. We'll figure something out, but we have to move."

 _We have to keep moving, no matter what._

 _We can't stay still._

Edwards nodded hesitantly and tightened his hold on the unconscious Daryl, dragging him towards the RV with Rosita. Beth watched the way Daryl's body hung loosely against their holds and how his shoulders—shoulders that used be so strong and capable—were sagging limply like a slaughtered animal. A mental image of Rick and Shane carrying him similarly to this back on the farm came to mind, and she forced herself to believe that like that time, things would be all right.

 _He'd_ be all right. Because this was Daryl Dixon. Keeper of safety. The angel of steel. He couldn't die. He _didn't_ die.

 _Please don't die_ , she willed. _Not you. Please don't you go and die too_. _We're not done yet, Daryl Dixon, and we never will be._

 _So please don't die._

.

.

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Okay so I left it on _ANOTHER_ cliffhanger.  
Please don't strangle me.

But amongst other news, DARYL IS BACK! You got your wishes, you sunshine children. Now just prepare for angst city and Maya being a general asshole in her writing. Leave a review and let me know what you thought!


	34. I'll see you in hindsight

**RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

"So what are we gonna do?"

Mark's question lingered in the air as they stood around the table at one end of the RV.

They needed to think of a way to get Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham back, preferably getting killed, and find Dwight and the others before _they_ got themselves killed, or ran into the Saviors.

Beth was only half listening to Rosita's answers and her knowledge on what they knew about the group lead by Negan, her gaze constantly wandering to the door that acted as a barrier to the camp-bed that Daryl lay still unconscious on.

Edwards was in there with him, so it wasn't like he wasn't in good hands . . . But still.

Her fingers drummed against the wood of the table, everyone's words drifting through the air and missing her ears.

She heard murmurs, the distant worried chatter of the other people in the vehicle, and the sound of the engine. And every sound was like a pounding siren making her head throb.

"Beth?"

She blinked when Mark called her name and tried to act as normal as possible, but he saw right through her distracted demeanour.

"Go check on Edwards," he said, "We got this."

"Are . . . you sure?"

Effy flashed her a warming smile, "We got it. We'll call you back when we've got it sorted. Go on."

Looking away from the girl's knowing gaze, Beth removed her hands from the table and made her way over to the door that led to the sleeping compartment in the RV. Stopping with her hand on the plastic handle that opened the door, she swallowed heavily and pulled it open, stepping inside and closing it behind her.

Edwards looked up from his perch on the side of the bed and watched her come into the small compartment.

She glanced at him momentarily before resting her gaze on Daryl's sleeping form.

He was stretched out on the camp-bed and folded under the covers, bandages on his shoulder peeking out from beneath the blankets. His eyes were sealed closed and the bags beneath them were dark and swollen, partially covered by the long strands of hair that fell across his face. His skin was uncannily white, practically ghostly, and his breathing was at a bare minimum, the gradual rise and fall of his chest only just visible with the moving covers.

"He's going to be ok," Edwards said quietly, ". . . Don't cry, Beth."

She gasped quietly and lifted a hand to her cheek, where she found droplets of dampness staining her bruised and scarred skin.

When had she started crying? Beth didn't know, but she wiped the evidence of it away on her sleeve.

Edwards gave her a tiny smile and removed his glasses to wipe them on his shirt. When he put them back on, he looked up at her through a cracked lens and moved to stand.

He made his way over to the door and turned to glance at her again before he slid it open.

"Can I entrust you with the sickly patient?" he asked, and Beth almost smiled.

She nodded, sniffing harshly, and took his seat on the bed.

"Yeah."

"Ok. Tell me if he wakes up."

And with that, he opened the door and left, closing it behind him and leaving Beth alone with the sleeping archer.

Tilting her head to look at him properly, she felt a pang in her chest at the look of silent agony on his face, and she muffled a whimper.

Reaching out a hand, she pushed some strands of oily hair out of his face delicately and let her fingers linger on his battered brow. She sat like that, fingers ghosting over his pale skin, and felt more quiet tears building in her eyes.

Since her episode in the willows with Lilly, it seemed she couldn't stop crying now even if she tried, and frankly, she didn't _want_ to try right now.

She raked a clump of dark hair away from his forehead and felt a smile tugging at her lips despite his ghostly appearance.

". . . Hey," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

Daryl didn't respond.

Her hand trailed down to the rough patch of stubble on his jaw, and she stroked his greasy flesh carefully. _Precisely_ , as if she were taking a picture with her hands and trying to burn it to memory. A photograph she could keep with her. A photograph she would _never_ burn if presented with the choice.

She shifted her hand and traced his large nose, then his lips, then down the soft clammy curve of his neck.

". . . Daryl?" she called, voice soft and his name rolling off her tongue like warm honey, a tone she realised she hadn't used since before getting holed up in that hospital. "Daryl? Can you hear me? It's me . . . It's _Beth_."

She placed her hand over his slowly rising chest and felt the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. Felt the pulse thrumming, and the blood flowing.

"I'm _here_ ," she whispered, "I'm right here. I'm not dead. I'm not gone. I'm not . . ."

 _I'm not gonna leave you._

Curling her fingers around the fabric of his shirt, she squeezed and bit down on her tongue.

Daryl still didn't respond, nor did he wake, but Beth still kept her eyes fixed on his sickly sleeping expression. Holding the collar of his shirt tightly, she leaned in slightly so that her forehead was hovering just above his cheek, and breathed in his severe scent of smoke and earth.

"I know I could've avoided all this if I just didn't stab Dawn," she whispered, "I could'a walked away out of that hospital with you and the others and it all would've been okay. I would've got to see Maggie . . . Tyreese and anyone else who's died might still be alive . . . And you . . . _You_ _. . ._ You wouldn't be like this."

She lifted her head and stared at him with wobbly eyes, and her lips curved into a desperate smile.

"I'm _sorry_ I did this to you . . . I am. I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to do _any_ of it. But here we are, and we can't change that now, so we have to put it away, and open our eyes and believe. So please . . . Please just open your eyes. Just for a little while. Just for a second. _Please_. Just wake up and see me . . . Just see me."

When he still didn't react, she cocked her head to the side and let a few strands of fringe fall from behind her ear.

One hand still fisted in his shirt, she lifted the other and tucked it back behind her ear.

"You weren't the only one who had a change of heart back then, Daryl Dixon." she admitted, "I did too. You _made_ me have one, and I just wanna say . . . Thank you. Thank you so much. Because now . . . I'm here, and you're here, and if we try our hardest and really fight for what we care about . . . we can do anything."

 _Storm a hospital, cross hundreds of miles to get to_ _each other_ _, find your own damn drink_ _. . ._

 _Anything._

The sound of the door sliding open again startled Beth and made her withdraw her hand from Daryl's chest, and when she looked up she saw that it was only Rosita.

The young woman smiled at her and passed a glance at Daryl, before reaching into her jacket pocket and pulling something out. She held it out to Beth and prompted her to take it, which she did with a puzzled look on her teary face.

"It's from Maggie," she clarified, "Kind of a sentimental thing. She wrote it and told me she wanted me to leave it where we left you. I don't know what's in it, but she wrote it. To you. I don't think she ever expected you to read it though."

Beth's breath caught and she held the folded paper in her hands, heart beating in her throat.

The answers were standing right in front of her, now all she had to do was ask.

So ask, she did.

"You said, 'where you left me' . . ." she started, ". . . Why?"

 _Why did you leave me?_

Rosita looked away guiltily and closed the door behind her. She sat on the end of the bed and looked down at her hands, before looking up at a picture frame on the wall and delivering an answer.

"After you were shot," she said, "Daryl carried you out to all of us, and even though I didn't know you personally, I remember thinking that things couldn't possibly get any worse than they were then. Maggie was crying, Daryl was crying, they were all crying, and I just didn't understand why it was so unfair."

Beth listened to the speech, Rosita's words sounding similar to Edwards's as he watched from the hospital window. She knew this part, knew they carried away, but then the part _after_ that was a missing blank.

"We left the hospital then," Rosita continued, "They wanted to bury you so we went on our way to do that, but as we were going . . . that herd of walkers showed up."

Beth sucked in a sharp breath and glanced back at Daryl for what she guessed was some sort of support.

She remembered the herd when she'd woken up in that trunk. Remembered the way she'd wandered through them, soaked in blood and whining pathetically, like she was one of them.

 _Aren't we all just like that deep down?_

"So how did I end up in the trunk of a car?" she asked.

Rosita winced at that and something flashed in her eyes.

Like what she'd seen in Abraham's.

It wasn't guilt, it wasn't sadness, it wasn't anything she could identify. What was it?

"I didn't want to do that." she admitted, "None of us did . . . But it had to be done."

"What had to be done?"

She didn't seem to want to look at her when she asked that, and kept her gaze firmly locked on a picture frame on the wall.

"We had to leave you behind."

She sucked in a breath.

And there it was.

 _Confirmation_.

"Oh." she whispered, and Rosita's guilty look intensified.

"We didn't want to," the woman emphasised, "It was the only way, the walkers came and swarmed us, we . . . He wouldn't let go of you."

Rosita's eyes traveled across to Daryl, who was still sleeping motionless on the bed, and Beth followed her gaze.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Rosita kept her eyes fixed on his still form, biting on the inside of her cheek as she accepted Beth's questioning gaze.

"He carried you down all those flights of stairs, out into the parking lot, then out into the city streets. Even when the herd came, he still held onto you like some kind of lifeline . . . He was _never_ going to let you go."

"So why _did_ he?"

The question came out harsher than Beth had intended and Rosita noticed because she pulled her gaze away from Daryl and looked at her.

Her eyes were dusky and thoughtful, and there was an element of warm softness glowing within them.

"He didn't have a choice," she said, ". . . We didn't give him one. The walkers were gonna get us— _him_ if he didn't put you down—so we had to make a choice . . . And that choice was to get Abraham to knock him out."

Beth gasped lightly.

Knock him out? What? So they . . . ?

" _What_?" she breathed.

"There was no other choice. He wasn't going to leave you, so Abraham knocked his rifle around the back of his head and sent him out. Rick and Eugene had to carry _him_ the rest of the way. And you . . ."

She looked physically pained then, almost _sick_ even, like she was horrified by their own actions.

Disturbed. By what they'd done.

Mortified.

"We had to leave you."

 _Leave me?_

They had to leave her. She'd wanted an answer and she'd got it.

Honestly, what had she even expected?

 _Ha_.

The harsh part of her brain laughed hard and deep in her ears as Rosita turned away with an expression seeping with shame and turned her attention to Daryl again.

 _There you go. You got your answer. They just got up and left you in a sea of walkers to die. You were a liability, an' we both know what they do to liabilities. Like what they did with Otis. And that old man, Dale._

 _That wasn't like that and you know it._

 _But it wasn't_ un _like it. You were dying, there was a danger, and there was nothin' they could do. They had a choice and they made it. They gave up on them and they let them die. They killed them and they didn't even bat an eyelid. They left_ you _there to die. DIE. Do you hear me? They left you there to DIE._

She suppressed a whine—that thankfully Rosita didn't hear—and stared down into her lap where her fingers were laced together. Sweat was building in the cast on her wrist, along with clotted blood and dirt. It gathered along the part that hugged her thumb and shone with a dark grimy factor.

Because perhaps that nagging contemptuous voice in her head was right.

 _You were always a liability to them._

 _You were always nothing more than a_ _scared_ _little girl waiting to bite the dust._

But then Beth looked up from her lap at Daryl, who was lying there on the bed with his eyes glazed shut and his hair cloaking his face, and she suddenly knew that wasn't entirely true.

They had to knock him out.

They had to physically drag him away from her and knock him unconscious to get him to leave her behind, and even despite that, somehow . . . Beth knew that no matter what, Daryl, _Daryl_ , would never, _ever,_ leave her on his own accord.

 _He believed in you._ _When no one else did, when even your sister had probably given up on you, he didn't. He believed in you because you inspired him, and he inspired you, and you admired that about him._

 _He admired that about_ you _._

Edwards recognised that.

He'd only spent about five seconds in the same proximity as the man, but somehow from that and from reading the pages of her journal, he understood that level of connection and admired _it_. Fell in love with a story. Relished in the words she'd scrawled across the pages mixed with her sweat and her tears.

The paper condensed version of Daryl Dixon, the 2D angel of ink.

Beth Greene graced her eyes across the archer's sleeping form and felt her heart releasing sharp, aching throbs, and suddenly any sliver of resentment she might've had over him leaving her behind seemed to melt away. She looked at him with water wobbling in her eyes and bit through her smile, and then leaned forward on the tiny bed to clasp his hand.

His fingers were large and his knuckles were bulky, just like they were when she'd grabbed his hand before by the gravestone, only this time they were much colder, no longer warmed by a heated flush of his body.

He felt like a corpse, and that made Beth squeeze his fingers tighter.

 _You believed in me_ _, all that time ago. So_ _I believe in you._

Rosita watched the exchange between Beth and the sleeping man and looked like she wanted to smile, her eyes filled with that same disbelieving, delighted glee that Abraham had when looking at her. The joy of bringing another person joy. The joy of telling _Daryl_ what they'd found, or rather, _who_ they'd found.

"We can do anythin'," she whispered whilst clasping his hand, and a tiny smile crept across her lips as she did, "Anythin'."

 _You just gotta open your eyes_ _._

 _Please_ _. . ._

 _Just open them_ _. . ._

 _Just see me._

But he didn't.

When Mark opened the door and poked his head in, he called for Beth to come join the search party for Dwight and the others, and she blinked away the tears and nodded.

Tugging her fingers free of Daryl's large and comatose ones, she gave him one long last stare, before leaning down and planting a chaste, lingering kiss on his bruised brow.

 _I'm not gonna leave you, but whenever I do, I'll be sure to come back to you._

"I'll tell him," Rosita spoke suddenly, drawing her attention and making her look at her.

"When he wakes up," she clarified, "I'll tell him you were here. I'll be sure to let him know. He'll be glad, he'll be _more_ than glad, I know."

Beth smiled a soft smile and nodded with gratitude.

"Thank you."

Rosita returned the nod.

"And I'm sorry," she muttered, "For what we did. I'm not proud of it, I don't think it was the right thing to do, but what's done is done, and maybe things would've gone differently if we'd acted different, but _this_ is the way it's gone, and we can't change that now."

 _It's not who you were._

"But we can try to make it okay somehow."

 _It's who you are_ _._

Beth nodded.

"Take care of him for me."

Rosita smiled, "I will. I promise."

For some reason, she trusted that promise. Trusted her. So she got up off the bed and left, the warmth of her fingers leaving Daryl's cold, motionless ones.

 _We'll see each other again. We will._

 _I promise._

 **.**

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Still not got your reunion lolol (I'm literally the worst omg I'm sorry), but don't worry, as you've gathered by now - I like to surprise you, so who knows what's coming now? You'll just have to hold onto your butts and trust me.

Be sure to leave a review with your thoughts and thanks so much for reading! :D


	35. Ameliorate

**RUNNING BLIND**

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"Stop fidgeting, you little bitch."

Lilly peered up through the brown knots of hair that hung in her face and struggled in her restraints, the man who'd been responsible for her capture standing towering above her and staring down.

She spat a shot of blood out onto her knees from when he'd knocked her with his gun, and passed a glance over at the two men—Abraham and Aaron—who were also knelt tied up and gagged. Biting the strip of cloth wound around her head and clogging her mouth, she gestured the most frightened expression she could possibly make and gazed up at the Savior with huge, teary eyes.

His brows furrowed and his lips curved into a sadistic smile, and he lowered himself down to get a proper look at her.

"You sure are a pretty thing," he remarked with a perverse grin, "Especially with that helpless an' scared look on your face."

Lilly swallowed a shot of hot acid that built in her throat.

"Maybe I'll just trade the two fuckers over there and keep you for myself."

"No, Jake." one of the others who'd attacked them spoke up from tightening Aaron's bindings, "You know Negan doesn't condone that kind of behaviour back at the camp. He'd cut off your ear if he found out what you were doin'. Or spread an iron across _your_ face."

"Well, what Negan don't _know_ _. . ._ can't hurt him."

Suppressing her frown, Lilly bit down on the gag again and tried to speak against it, vocals growling out in muffled breaths against the cloth.

Jake tilted his head to the side and smirked again. "Looks like the lady wants to say somethin'," he remarked, "And who am I to deny the right of speech?"

Reaching his hand over cautiously, he tugged the cloth out of her mouth and let it fall against her collarbones, and she swallowed harshly before opening her mouth to speak.

"You're making a mistake here," she said, voice timid and deliberately shaky.

His brow quirked.

"Oh we are, are we? And why's that?"

"Because our leader . . . is going to _kill_ you."

He burst out laughing at that, along with his other companions, and Abraham and Aaron flashed her questioning looks.

Lilly kept her composure.

Beth wasn't their leader. She wasn't anything of the sort really. She was just a girl. A girl with a bruised and battered face, hair of blinding melted gold, and an iron will. But along with Dwight and the rest of their party, she was _definitely_ capable of killing people like Jake and his men.

Once the Savior stopped laughing, he folded his arms and looked at her with a mocking expression.

"And which one of ya would that be?" he asked.

She straightened up.

"Beth."

Abraham's expression flooded with confusion at that, but the gag prevented him from saying anything, and Lilly flashed him a quick look that made him still.

" _Beth_. . ." Jake tapped his finger against his lip, "Which one would that be? The blonde one? The _girl_?"

He snorted again at her confirming expression.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" he cried, "She's just a fuckin' little girl!"

Lilly bit the inside of her cheek and withdrew some of the fear from her expression, and instead focused a somber, more severe one, before opening her mouth to speak a low, sinister sentence.

"That's right," she said, "The little girl . . . And doesn't that scare you to _death_?"

He didn't have anything to say to that, so he just leaned forward and put the gag back into her mouth, then stood up. He stared at her for a moment, before addressing his companions, his eyes never leaving hers.

"New trade plan, guys," he said, "Instead of gettin' just Daryl Dixon and whoever else they were willing to trade like we originally planned . . . We're gettin' this Beth too."

Lilly's heart sank.

 _Shit_.

That hadn't been her intention upon having Beth act in the role of their leader, that hadn't been her intention at all. But now . . . Now. Things were going to screw up really bad if she couldn't think of something. And fast.

.

.

Edwards jumped when Daryl's eyes shot open and his body produced a harsh, violent jolt. The bed he was sat on gave a firm shake in sync with the man, and Edwards sucked in a deep breath to compose himself from the shock. Rosita was sat on the opposite side of the bed and passed him a brief glance before turning her attention to the awakening individual beneath the covers.

Daryl let off a low scratchy groan and squeezed his eyes shut tightly to blink the haziness out of them. When he re-opened them, he studied his surroundings with a perplexed expression and glanced at Rosita questioningly.

"It's okay," she reassured him, "We're in Edwards's group's RV. You collapsed on the way here, but we're alright here for the time being. Just rest."

Daryl groaned again and rose his uninjured arm up to press a clammy palm against his face.

Rosita looked at Edwards again, and there was a bizarre sense of excitement gleaming in her dark eyes that caught the doctor off guard. Her expression was twinkling with a quiet giddiness that didn't quite fit the scenario . . .

But then Edwards remembered.

"There's something you should know, Daryl." she said, causing him to pull his hand down from his face and scowl, unimpressed at the ambiguity.

" _What_?" he grunted, his voice scratchy and worn, sounding frighteningly similar to a walker's shrill cry, Edwards thought worriedly.

"It's . . . It's about Beth. Beth Greene."

That caught his attention.

Edwards watched the attentiveness flicker away within Daryl's eyes, and saw his brow creasing at the name.

 _Her_ name.

Beth.

". . . What about her?" he asked, tone dripping with venom and eyes holding a poisonous warning.

Rosita managed a half smile, and Edwards felt his pulse thrumming with anticipation at how the man would react.

 _Beth_.

"She's—"

The RV jolted to a hard stop and sent Edwards and Rosita hurting sideward just a little before they recovered, and sent Daryl's head knocking against the hard frame of the wood at the top of the bed. They all looked at each other quizzically before Effy slid open the door and peered in worriedly.

"What happened?" Edwards asked, standing up.

"At the front," Effy said, visibly panicked, "Some people showed up. The Saviors, we think. They've got Lilly and two other men . . . They want to do a trade."

Edwards's expression mirrored Effy's worried one.

They were no strangers to hostage exchanges, and they were also no strangers to what happened when they went wrong.

"What's everyone doing?"

"Mark and Matty went out to try to talk to them. Negotiate, or at least _try_ to. Beth went as well. They're out there now."

Daryl was sat up now, the mention of Beth's name prompting a confused frown to blossom across his features, but Edwards remained questioning Effy.

"What do they want to trade _for_?"

She bit her lip and passed a glance at Rosita and Daryl, then back at Edwards, and he knew instantly what they wanted.

"Wait . . ." he said, "Why would they want to trade for these two when they've already got more of them in their possession right now? What makes them want _these_ two _more_?"

"I might know the answer to that," Rosita spoke up.

Edwards turned to look at her and waited for her to explain, whilst Daryl still wore that perplexed scowl on his sickly features.

"We've had run-ins with the Saviors before," she explained, "Daryl especially. He blew up a whole group of them on the road, some more on the way down here, and we all snuck into one of their compounds at night and slit all their throats whilst they were sleeping. But Negan's got it out for Daryl and Rick more than _any_ of us here, but since Rick's back home, and Daryl's down here with us . . . _He's_ the one he wants the most. And he'll trade practically _anything_ to get him, and any _one_."

Upon hearing that, Edwards knew there was no way in hell that Beth would _ever_ let that happen, and if she was out there at the front right now . . .

He pushed past Effy and left the three of them in the room, ordering Effy and Rosita to keep Daryl there under any circumstances, and made his way to the front of the RV.

Lisa was sat in the driver compartment with Thomas at the wheel, and he peered out through the front window to see the spectacle unfolding in front on the road.

Beth was walking down the dusty highway with Mark and Matty behind her, her hands risen passively, but Molly's pickaxe was still strapped to her back. The blonde braid in her hair swung with her steps and stopped as she did, just before the human barricade of people that stood several feet down the road.

They had bikes and cars, the path in no way clear, and their weapons were drawn unlike theirs.

Edwards swallowed.

.

.

Beth swallowed the nerves that were rising in her throat and walked down the road with her hands held skyward in flaccid signaling. She passed a glance back at Mark and Matty briefly, and nodded for them to stay, then continued forward a few more steps until she came within speaking range with the man at the front of the Savior gang.

He eyed her carefully, gaze flicking from her face down to her toes, then back up to her face again. Lilly was shooting her a practically distraught look from her stance beside Abraham and Aaron, gnawing at her gag harshly, and the hairs on the back of Beth's neck stood up with the wave of suspense that washed over her.

" _Beth_ , right?" the man at the front spoke, and Beth was surprised that he knew her name.

"Yeah," she said, "And you are . . . ?"

"I'm Jake. You can put your hands down, we ain't gonna shoot ya . . . Unless you try anything stupid, that is."

Lowering her hands to her sides, she sucked in a deep breath and steadied herself.

"You said just now that you wanted a trade. What do you want?"

He shoved his gun back into its holster and walked towards her, making her tense up as he drew closer and stopped within one small meter of touching her.

"Daryl Dixon." he said, "And the woman with him. We want them. Three o' your guys for two of them. Good deal, don't you think?"

"Why do you want them?"

"That's not a story for now, we got big fish to fry with them, but truth be told that ain't actually _all_ we want."

Her brow creased. "What else do you want?"

He eyed her up and down again, before a tiny smirk tugged at his lips and he answered.

"You. We want you as well."

Her eyes widened and she heard Mark and Matty move in protest behind, but they stopped when some of the Saviors pointed their guns at them.

Beth stared at Jake, confused, and blinked slowly.

". . . _Why_?"

His grin stretched wider. "You'll see once we get back to camp, darlin'. But don't worry, your treatment'll be a _lot_ better than Daryl's, so you're fine."

She bit her tongue.

 _What do I do?_

 _Keep talking_ , Rick's voice said firmly. _Strike up another deal, a better deal, turn the tables and make it your game._

 _Like that worked out so well for you._

The ocean of gunfire after The Governor uttered his fatal _Liar_ and swung Michonne's katana down on her daddy's neck rung in Beth's ears, and she knew a tactic like that wasn't going to work.

There was no talking her way out of this, that had never been her skill, not even now.

There was only one thing she could think of that would give them a tiny sliver of a chance, and that was only if the people in the RV understood her orders.

 _Won't know unless you try_ , Rick piped up, and she balled her fists in resolve.

"Fine." she agreed, keeping her expression as masked as possible, "I'll get them to come out."

"That won't be necessary," Jake said, "One of us'll go in and get them. We can't have you warning them and hightailin' outta here. Thanks for your cooperation."

 _Oh no_.

As a few of the Saviors stepped forward to make their way over to the RV, Beth turned and looked over her shoulder at the people in the front window of the vehicle, and locked eyes with Edwards, desperately trying to convey her message and pray that he understood.

.

.

Edwards breathed harshly at Beth's look.

"She wants us to drive," he said, seeing the Saviors that were walking past her, Mark and Matty, and coming towards the RV. Her eyes were wide and desperate, _pleading_ him to make them get out of there, and Edwards nodded to show that he understood.

 _Trust me._

Because he trusted her, and if she was telling them something was wrong, he was going to play his part in keeping them alive for as long as possible.

"Drive, _drive_!" he yelled, and Thomas put his foot down on the reverse pedal harshly before the Saviors could reach the door, sending them flying back down the road and smashing into the empty car at the rear.

Pulling away from the crunched up car, Thomas performed a sharp U-turn and sent them driving fiercely down the empty stretch of road and away from the barricade. Leaving him to drive, Edwards darted down to the back of the RV and looked out through the back window where bullets were battering against the sides of the glass, and saw the look of relief in Beth's distant eyes as she grew smaller and smaller because of the distance. Eventually, the bullets stopped, and the glass stopped falling at his feet.

Daryl stormed out of the bedroom then with a hand on his bandaged shoulder and came up beside Edwards. Catching one final sight of Beth's silhouette on the horizon, his breath hitched and his shoulders filled out with a new sense of tenacity, and he strode up to the front of the vehicle with a slight limp.

Rosita and Effy came out of the bedroom compartment and followed Edwards after the sickly archer, and stopped behind him at the front.

"Turn this thing around," he snapped at Thomas, who glanced at him worriedly and bit his lip.

"I'm sorry," Thomas mumbled, "I can't—"

"Turn this fuckin' thing _around_! Hit the brakes! We gotta go back!"

"Daryl, calm down!" Rosita cried, and he turned to look at her with venom simmering in his eyes.

"Calm down?" he spat, " _She's_ back there, she's _alive_ , and we just fuckin' left her behind! _Again_!"

" _Daryl_ ," Edwards reached out to put his hands on his shoulders, "You're going to reopen your wound, you need to stop this, Beth will be fine, she's—"

He smacked the doctor's hands away and glared at him like a furious animal, and let off a sound that sounded like a shrill growl. " _Don't_ you fuckin' touch me," he spat, "She's back there with them, we _left_ her with 'em, we gotta go back, we gotta go back for her, we gotta—"

"She _told_ us to go," Edwards tried to calm him down, "We're doing what she wanted. We're doing—"

"I _CAN'T_ LEAVE HER THERE!"

The RV went silent at his violent cry, and Daryl began to breathe heavily with sweat dripping down his face. He stared at them with a horrified expression of desperation and rage, and shook his head slowly.

"I can't leave her . . ." he breathed, quieter, "Not again."

Edwards looked at him through cracked glass lenses and sighed quietly, before leaning his head to the side and giving him a slight smile.

"We're not leaving her," he said, "We'll figure something out, I promise, but we can't do it like this. _You'll_ end up getting yourself killed this time."

Daryl's lips trembled.

The RV filled with a tense silence.

". . . Do you know what the word _'ameliorate'_ means, Daryl?" Edwards asked.

His eyebrow crease and unfriendly frown confirmed that he did not, so Edwards allowed his smile to widen just a little before he provided the definition.

 _Running away sometimes doesn't make you a coward._

"It means to make something that went wrong before . . . _better_. And that's what we're going to do. We're going to do it right this time. We're _going_ to save her, and nobody has to die this time. Not her, you, not anyone. We're going to do it better."

 _It makes you smart, an' not willin' to die in some stupid way._

"We're all survivors here, like Beth told us right at the start, and we have to fight if we want to keep on living. Because your life is measured by how much you're willing to fight for it, and it's also measured by how much you're willing to fight for _other_ people's lives. And are we willing to fight for Beth Greene's life? After everything she's done for us? After all the times she's _saved_ us?"

Effy wore a bright smile too now, and Daryl was staring and listening to Edwards's words with practically glittering eyes and an assumedly clogged up throat.

"I think we owe her at _least_ that," Edwards nodded, "And not just because of some dumb selfish debt. Because she's our _friend_ , and we care about her, because I know _I_ sure as hell do."

Beth Greene said she was a lot of things. A daughter. A sister. A friend. A killer . . .

A survivor.

But she remained, at the end of it all, the most important thing to ever cross Dr. Steven Edwards's path, just like she was the greatest miracle to grace Daryl Dixon's eyes.

A murmur of hope. A flame in the darkness. A song in the nothing.

"Beth Greene is _everything_ to me, and I won't abandon her either."

 **.**

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	36. Call the shots

**Author's Corner**

Thank you all so so much for the wonderful feedback you guys never fail to give, I love reading every single word/sentence/paragraph/scream you leave me, and I hope you'll continue to keep doing that. The last few chapters have been pretty intense, and it doesn't stop here. I hope you enjoy where we're going and hopefully don't want to kill me with a fork for any suspense you're left in (I'm sorry that keeps happening with the cliffhangers they're unintentional I swear).

So here's the newest chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** Still not mine, obviously.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Watching the RV speed down the dirt road from which they came, its battered back patterned with bullet holes gradually disappearing beyond the dusty horizon, Beth subtly breathed a sigh of relief and let her eyes slide shut.

"Well," Jake remarked with a cruel laugh, "Would you get a load of that! They just dumped your sorry asses and _left_ ya! How's that _feel_?"

Opening her eyes, Beth turned back to face him and hardened her demeanour.

"They're too smart to let themselves get captured by you," she said.

"But not smart enough to get _you_ out of it as well. Come on, Negan's waiting for us to deliver. _Something's_ better than _nothin'_ at least."

"Drop your weapons," one of the Saviors ordered, and Mark and Matty clung to their knives.

Abraham and Aaron exchanged a glance and Lilly kept her eyes fixed on Beth, silently willing her to do what was asked.

Beth saw Lilly's silent plea.

"Do what they say," she said to Mark and Matty, who looked at her strangely for a moment before reluctantly handing their knives over to the Savior that came to take them.

Jake walked closer to Beth then and held out his hand for the pickaxe. Biting down on her tongue, Beth reached behind her and pulled out Molly's beloved Hilda, placing it in his hands and then reaching to unstrap the gun holster at her waist. Once he'd got them, he turned to put them in the back of one of their trucks, but he'd failed to become aware of the bolt that still resided, tucked inside Beth's boot. He came back then with three strips of tough cloth, and tugged Beth's hands up in front of her and wound one of the cloths around her wrists, securing it with a tight double knot. They did the same to Mark and Matty, also stuffing gags in their mouths like Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham, but when they went to do the same to Beth, Jake stopped them.

"That won't be necessary with her," he said, his tone eerie and quiet, "I wanna hear what she says. Plus . . . She's smarter than we think. She knows not to try anything that'd result in anyone here getting hurt . . . It's not like there's another RV she can make them drive away in."

Her brows quirked slightly.

He knew she'd wanted them to drive away.

 _How_? How had he known that?

She stared at him with careful eyes and he gestured for him to follow him. He led her past Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham, and she passed Lilly a quick nod as she walked by, then climbed into the front passenger seat of car Jake wanted her to get in. When she was sat in with her bound hands laid on her lap, Jake got in the driver's seat and put his foot down on the ignition, prompting the other vehicles to follow behind.

They drove along up the road in the opposite direction that the RV had taken, and Beth found her gaze wandering back and mentally worrying if they'd gotten away without running into more trouble.

"So," he spoke up, "How is it that a little girl like you came to be in charge of a big group like that? With men that look to be way stronger than you in it too?"

She frowned in slight bewilderment.

"What gives you the impression that _I'm_ in charge?" she asked, a wind blowing in through the smashed open window and catching the flyaway hairs and the knotty chunk of fringe beside her cheeks.

He smirked knowingly, "You can try to deny it, but it won't work. One of your friends told me you were the leader. I just wanna know how that came to happen."

Beth scrunched up her lips.

Lilly must have invented that tale for some reason. But _why_? What was she thinking by saying that? What did she think could come possibly out of it . . . ? Then she suppressed a smile.

"That's right," she said eventually, "I am in charge."

She figured it would be easier to keep up the rouse and keep him curious, seeing as he might not want to kill her as much if he was so interested in how a girl like her had won the loyalty and respect of so many. If he wanted to know just why they called her _leader_.

 _I'd follow you._

"That's better, no more lying. Honesty is always the best, especially when trying to earn the trust of a stranger. Ya have to rely on that in this world now—the honesty of strangers."

"So the same has to apply to you. Don't lie to me either."

He snorted.

"Your tone's got an air of authority about it, girl. Guess that's part of how you came to be in charge."

 _Don't do anythin' stupid_ , Daryl's voice whispered.

 _Be clever_.

She grinned inwardly.

 _Oh, I can be clever._

"Why do you want Daryl and Rosita?" she asked, "You already had Abraham and Aaron, Lilly too, but you were still willing to trade them all for just two people. Even without me in the equation, you still would've traded three for just two. _Why_?"

He passed her a quick glance.

". . . We got a history with these people," he said, "They killed a lot of our guys. Daryl especially. He blew up Bud's gang on the road with a fuckin' _bazooka_. Then the lot of 'em snuck into one of our compounds and slit everyone's throats in their sleep. Yet _we're_ the bad guys for retaliating to that?"

Beth's eyebrows rose.

"They did that? Killed them in their sleep?"

"They sure did. Killed Paula and her guys before she could do a hostage exchange too. Slit their throats. Stabbed their heads. Burned them alive. That's what Rick Grimes and his people can do. Would you have let 'em seek safe passage in your RV if ya knew _that_ about them?"

 _He doesn't know your history with them._

 _You can use that._

 _Use anything you can use._

"That's horrible," she said, staring out at the road ahead through the windscreen, "I'm sorry."

"What're _you_ sorry for? You didn't murder them in their sleep."

"No . . . But I'm sorry you lost them. It's awful that you had to lose the people you care about just because other people were thirsty for blood and carnage."

Jake passed her another look, the perverse sinister quality from before seemingly melting away ever so slightly to be replaced with a touched surprise.

The Daryl in Beth's mind grinned at his gullible reaction to her acting.

"Negan won't hurt you, ya know." he said then, hands gripping the steering wheel tight, "As long as you don't piss him off or threaten him . . . He won't."

"I'll try and appeal to his good side," Beth replied, flashing a knowing smile, and Jake's brows rose again in surprise.

 _Dwight was right_ , the snappy part of her spoke up.

 _You do call the shots; fuck shit up in a discrete way. You've got the act down to perfection. You act like you don't know what you're doing, but you do. You can't keep pretending you're blind to what you do. You've been doing it from the start. Sitting there quietly, just listening, noting everything down, filing it away_ _. . ._ _Then you use it to your advantage when the right time comes._

 _Sometimes you improvise too, like with getting Dawn into a distraction._

 _When you ran into her in that hallway, you just had to drop in that:_ "Joan was looking for you." _Then she headed straight to Gorman's office, where the two of them were waiting with snapping jaws, all because of your innocent little suggestion._

She could pretend all she liked, but she'd somehow managed to capture the art of careful manipulation and use her sweet blonde demeanour as a means of misleading. Then when they thought they knew her game, she switched it around last minute and left them naked and sobbing in the dirt. That's what made it all the more ruthless.

 _You're the one that wanted to learn._

"I think you will be able to do that," Jake nodded, "If you're lucky, he might even _like_ you. Then you've basically got everything in the palms of your hands."

"What happens if he likes me?"

Another innocent question, in that same sickly sweet tone, but the implication was somewhat sinister.

"If he likes you . . ." Jake started, "He'll make it adamantly _clear_ that he does. Then you'll be offered a place in his line of bitches."

"You mean like a harem of wives?" she asked, remembering Dwight's words.

"Exactly like that. It's a positive _and_ a negative really. Ya get a hell of a protection, food, safety from the other men in the camp . . . But."

Beth waited for him to continue.

" _But_ _. . ._ You'd have to suffer lettin' him have his fill of you on a regular basis."

 _How about it, Bethy?_

 _We gonna work something out?_

"What happens if you refuse?"

"He respects your choice, but any chance of protection or having an influence on any kind of decision he makes is out the window. Dwight, a man I used to know—he disappeared a while ago, probably dead now—his wife chose to become one of the whores, and now _she_ calls the shots behind his brain sometimes."

Beth tried to mask her recognition of Dwight's name and at the mention of Sherry. "Is she still alive?"

"Oh yeah. Negan takes good care of his 'wives'. Don't let anyone lay so much as a finger on 'em. Sherry's perfectly well and protected."

She smiled mentally. So Sherry was alive? Alive _and_ well it seemed, still ensnared by the shackles of Negan, but alive nonetheless. If only she could pinpoint Dwight and tell him the news, but he'd quite literally disappeared from the scene. Along with Morgan, Shepherd, and Tanaka.

Wherever they were, as long as they didn't show up where they could run the risk of being shot on sight—say, Negan's camp—then they should be fine.

". . . What's gonna happen to my friends?"

"The ones followin' behind that're being held hostage? Or the ones that got away in the RV?"

"Both."

He tapped his fingers against the wheel and chewed on the inside of his cheek, and Beth felt bubbles of irritation stirring in her stomach, so she bit down on her tongue to prevent herself from pressing for an answer.

 _Remember what kind of game you're playing on right now._

"The woman from your group should be fine," he answered finally, "Negan's funny about that kind of thing, but the two guys from Rick's group might have a harder time getting a pass. But I'm guessin' ya aren't as concerned with those two, seeing as you've heard what those people can do now."

"Will he kill them? Negan?"

"Depends if he thinks he can use 'em. He might find something he can make them do, but if not . . . Yeah. They're as good as dead 'cause of what they've done."

Beth twirled her wrists against the harsh cloth binding them and scrunched up her nose.

"What about my people in the RV?" she asked, "Will you go after them?"

"Well they ain't exactly done anything that would piss Negan off, so we won't go chasing after them unless they give us a reason to. If they stay away, so will we."

Breathing a sigh of relief inwardly, Beth stopped shifting her wrists and leaned back against the chair, silently willing Edwards and the rest to keep as far away as possible.

"But Daryl is in there," he continued, and Beth's pulse quickened, "And we can't let _him_ go free, so if your people don't come back anytime soon . . . We'll have no choice but to go looking for them, and I can't guarantee who lives and who dies if they put up any resistance in handing him over."

Beth swallowed her panic.

If that wasn't a problem enough, there was also the problem of the missing Dwight and the others, and she hoped to _god_ that they'd stay away too. If she could just get out of this with Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham . . . Then what would they do? Regroup with the RV? Round up Dwight and the others?

Find Rick?

 _Thanks for the help._

If she wanted to do this, and really do it, there was only one way to do it, and she couldn't afford to drag Rick into it without proper reason. Not unless it came to that. So swallowing her anxiety, she produced a grim frown and turned to face Jake.

 _You said you could take care of yourself._

 _I can._

"Will I be able to talk to Negan? Alone?"

Jake gave her a look.

"And say what?"

"Negotiate. Try convince him to let us go. Let Rick's people go back to him, and let me and Lilly go back to ours. Easy. Nobody else dies."

"It's not that simple, darlin',"

"But it could be."

"You're in way out of your depth, girl." he said, tilting his head to face her, "You may think you're hot stuff just 'cause you're in charge of those people, but in Negan's turf . . . You're just a little girl. Ya can't talk your way into saving people, no matter how convincing ya might think you are, and you can't fight your battles with just words."

She craned her head to rest against her shoulder and produced a veiled, stoic expression which he didn't understand, and she didn't intend him to.

 _I can always try something else, if talking doesn't work._

 _Don't,_ Daryl murmured _. Remember how it went with Dawn. Stop getting ahead of yourself with your strength; stop throwin' yourself into the fire without a heat-proof vest on. You're tough, but you're not that person. You're not Rick._

 _What's stopping me from being that?_

 _You're not. Please, Beth, you're not_ _. . ._ _Don't do this._

There would always come a time one should stop listening to the voice in one's head and stop letting man's influence reflect the decision that needed to be made, and Beth had stopped listening to that voice for a while now, only this time was the first time she found the strength to be defiant and say . . . _No_.

 _You made me into this._

"Let me talk to him," she said, traces of a perhaps over-confident smile tugging at her lips, "I just wanna talk. Surely the great Negan can handle talking to a little girl?"

The voice was silent.

.

.

" _Hey_ ,"

Aaron and Abraham's heads tilted up at the sound of Lilly's quiet hiss.

The captured trio was huddled in close proximity at the back of one of the Savior vans, and Lilly's gag had gradually fallen out to rest on her collar, enabling speech once more. Her hands and ankles were still bound, but at least with the new addition of speech, she could now communicate with the two men beside her.

"I don't know how much you know about Negan and these people," she whispered, "But from what I've gathered, you've got a history with them, and they'll stop at nothing to get their hands on Daryl. That right so far?"

Aaron nodded.

"Now as for Beth. You heard what I said to them back there, I told them she was our leader, and whatever you know—or think you know—about her apart from that, I want you to forget it."

Abraham crinkled his brow at that, and Lilly explained.

"You're with Rick. You know her as the girl who died from a shot to the head; who you left behind and never saw again. These people. The Saviors. They can't know that. If they do, they've got leverage over us. Over _her_. And I might not know them as well as you, but do I know that they'll use that knowledge to make sure they win. They'll use it to take us _all_ down."

The man's scarlet brow smoothed and he nodded in understanding.

Lilly continued.

"We can't let them know that. We have to _trust_ her. I told them she was in charge because _I_ trust her, and yeah I didn't plan on her getting captured along with us, but I do believe she can get us out of this. I don't know how well the two of you know her, or if you even know her at all apart from what you've heard from your group . . . But _I_ know her, and I know she can do this. She's never let us down before."

Beth saved people.

Good people, bad people, in the end, they were all the same to her. There were no good or bad people anymore. Things weren't that black and white now. You had to read between the lines to truly understand. Search in the grey. Beth might not think that much of her own ability to do that, but Lilly and the others recognised that within her instantly, because that's who she was.

Not long ago, Steven had told her to believe in Beth. Believe in her strength and what she could do. And Lilly hadn't understood that at first, not really, but there was something she'd seen when the girl had broken out of her captivity and come after her and Gregg with a shard of glass.

There was something sharp in her, like glass, that glimmered away behind the veil of soft blonde. Something fierce, and capable, but subtle and tucked away deep. She knew where to poke people with a knife, and how hard to do it.

Any further dialogue Lilly could speak was cut off by the truck _slamming_ into something hard and throwing the three of them into the side, and the vehicle spun onto its side and collapsed in a huge, painful crumple.

She groaned and lifted her head from where it had fallen against the wall of the truck and coughed, wriggling in her restrains and feeling the binds loosening. With a few more rough wriggles, the binds were off and her hands were free, and she made quick work of the ones at her ankles then crawled over to where Aaron and Abraham were sprawled on the other end of the vehicle. They too groaned and bit hard against the gags in their mouths, and Lilly reached over and tugged the thick cloths away so they could speak, before then moving to untie their bindings.

"Thank fuckin' _finally_ ," Abraham wheezed at the eventual removal of his gag and coughed, "What the bitch just happened?"

He lifted his now-free-hands and rubbed his sore wrists, shaking his head fiercely to kick some life back into himself.

Aaron's vocabulary was far less crude when she removed his gag, him simply taking a deep breath and whispering a genuine _thank you_. She smiled and nodded, and once they were all freed from their confines, Lilly steadied her wobbly legs and pulled herself up, hands on the wall for support. The two men followed her suit and followed her staggering to the now-sideways truck hatch, and helped her gradually push it open.

Light poured into the van when it was open enough for them to fit through, and Lilly crawled through the gap and collapsed onto her back in the dirt outside.

The van had crashed into a tree on the side of the road and was smoking with smoke and flames. The driver's compartment was completely crushed and anyone sitting there was one hundred percent likely dead. There were no other Savior vehicles around from what she could see, theirs at the rear of the formation, and she sat up sluggishly to try to get a better view of her surroundings.

"Lilly?"

Lilly craned her head in the direction of the voice to see a man beyond the white spots in her vision, standing beside a cluster of others by the front of the crash.

Blinking away the haziness of her vision and dizzy feeling in her head, she choked out a gasp when she realised that she knew who the man was.

". . . _Dwight_?"

Aaron and Abraham exchanged bewildered glances whilst Lilly crawled pathetically and Dwight darted to meet her.

He got down on his knees and put a hand on her shoulder, his one working eye wide with surprise and relief. She coughed, spitting a shot of blood onto the ground by her hands and looked up at him with glazed eyes.

"You . . ." she panted, "You made the truck crash . . ."

"What the fuck were you _doin'_ in there?" he asked, helping her up and pulling her arm around his neck, casting tense glances across at Aaron and Abraham, "And who're these two?"

The people he was with—who Lilly now saw were Morgan, Shepherd, and Tanaka—raised their guns at the men, but Lilly rose a hand and shook rapidly her bleeding head.

" _No_!" she yelled, "They're with Rick! They're not Saviors . . . They're with . . ."

She felt her body sagging against Dwight and her eyes slid closed, and he wound his arms around her waist to keep her upright.

"They're with Rick . . ."

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Feels like Beth's getting a tiny bit too confident again if you ask me... Quite similar to Rick before he met Negan, don't you think? (uh oh)

Also just thought I should add that this fic takes place before the Lucille line-up in the season six finale, meaning everyone who was in the line-up is currently still alive at the moment. Don't forget to let me know what you thought of the chapter! Especially since everyone is now accounted for, with Dwight and the others being MIA for a little while. See why I have the three POV's (Beth, Edwards, Lilly) now? We get to see three locations now, through three different people.


	37. If need be

**RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

Edwards reached into his pack and dug out the old briefcase that was now covered in a fine coating of dust, which demonstrated just how long it had been since its last use. His fingers left markings and gaps in the layer of dust, grey specks clinging to his finger-pads as he opened up the case.

The abundance of tiny containers glistening with the pale blue liquid serum glinted up at him, and he withdrew one of the remaining few from its bindings.

There weren't a lot left now, he noticed then in a slight mental panic, and producing more was out of the question since they didn't have the facilities or equipment that Grady had. When they ran out, which they eventually would at this rate . . . Soon there would be nothing.

Nothing.

Daryl watched him with frowning eyes and stared as he transferred the serum into a clean syringe, and gestured for the arm with the bullet wound in the shoulder.

"Fuck is _that_?" he grunted, jolting away from Edwards's touch and demanding to know what the liquid was before having it inserted into his bloodstream.

Rightly so.

"It's what I gave Beth," he said, not missing the painful way Daryl's expression faltered at the mention of her name, "After she came staggering back to the hospital, beat up and bloody . . . This is what I used to make her better. It's a special serum we were working on that rapidly increases bodily repair and the immune system. It heals external and internal injuries faster, strengthens blood cells and damaged nerves, and creates a temporary immunity to the rotter virus whilst it's still circulating in your system . . . This . . . _This_ is what saved Beth."

Daryl listened intently, eyes still flashing with menace but now guilt as well.

He then stretched out his arm and silently granted permission for Edwards do whatever he had to do. Whilst Edwards was pressing the needle into the soft flesh of his shoulder, he spoke quietly.

". . . _She_ came to _you_?" he asked, voice small and gritty.

Edwards pushed the needle deep into Daryl's skin and let the liquid flow in through the punctured hole, the blue gradually draining from the clear tube of the syringe and into his bloodstream.

"Yeah," he answered, "Not in the best shape she'd ever been in, obviously, but she still managed to walk back from wherever all of you had taken her before it was too late to save her. She was already covered in her own blood and grime, and if I hadn't seen her from the roof . . ."

"You saved her."

Edwards's eyes widened at that and a tiny smile began to pull at the sides of his mouth. He pulled the now empty syringe out of Daryl's arm and wiped the needle with the cloth Effy had torn and looked at the brutally savaged man.

"I guess," he nodded, "But really . . . She saved _herself_."

That softened Daryl's expression somehow, and he looked away from Edwards's gaze as he pressed a damp tissue to the area of skin that had been punctured. He didn't speak for a bit after that, seemingly thinking hard about something, and Effy came into the bedroom compartment then, with more clean cloth and sterilised equipment.

Instead of leaving like she had the last time, she slid the door closed behind her and sat down on the other side of the bed to Edwards, placing the items she'd brought next to her. She looked at Daryl, curiously, like he was something unusual and awe-inspiring, and Daryl scowled at her expression.

"Sorry," she said finally, seeing his awkward/hostile face, and smiled with disbelief, "It's just weird actually seeing you. Well, _again_. I never thought we'd all be out here like this back then, and we probably wouldn't if you hadn't done what you did to Dawn. So I guess I just wanted to say . . . _Thank you_."

Edwards shook his head at Daryl's perplexed reaction and cut open a bandage packet with a pair of scissors.

"This is Effy," he introduced the girl, "She was a ward at Grady. She saw what went down at the hostage exchange."

Daryl's perplexed look turned to one of more understanding now and he nodded.

Edwards pressed a band-aid over the needle prick and changed the bandage on Daryl's shoulder, and Effy dipped a piece of cloth into the water and dabbed it across the man's clammy brow, wiping away some of the grime there.

"I know you're worried about her," she said suddenly, surprising Daryl _and_ Edwards.

Edwards looked up from where he was bandaging and looked at her.

Daryl's eyes were just wide and his brows were drawn down sharply at her statement.

"I know you're worried," she went on, dipping the cloth in the water again, "But she's going to be okay. _You_ of all people should know that. She's special to you, so of course, you're going to worry about her in situations like this, but you're special to her _too_ , and she absolutely won't let you die if there's anything she can do to avoid it. Anything she's doing . . . She's doing for _you_ , and you have to believe she'll be okay. She hasn't let us down once."

 _Is he really just a friend to you?_

"I'm not gonna let her die because of  
me," Daryl said firmly.

"She won't."

Effy looked at Edwards and smiled because of his contribution.

"She won't," he said again, "That wasn't a goodbye. We're going to see her again."

"Beth doesn't say goodbyes."

Those words were bitter and stinging, and Edwards thought of the words from Beth's journal. The sad words, the ones smudged with tears and regret. She hated goodbyes, but still, if she was going to leave them forever . . . She would say it.

She didn't just leave people.

Not without coming back to finish what she'd started.

.

.

Dwight held a flask of water up to Lilly's lips and carefully poured it into her mouth for her to drink. She was still recovering from her dizzy spell and was sat on a log in the woods about a mile from the crash site, Dwight and Morgan having supported her walking. Shepherd and Tanaka were gathering wood for a fire, and Morgan was seated with Aaron and Abraham, assumedly discussing Rick.

She looked back at Dwight when he lowered the flask from her lips, always surprised at the gentleness of his care towards others, when usually faced with his naturally aggressive manner and decision-making.

Caring gestures like these seemed so alien when he displayed them, and she found that she couldn't stop staring at him with an intrigued sense of puzzlement. He caught her expression and lowered his gaze to screw on the lid of the flask, the charred half of his face cracked and cast in shadow from the rapidly setting sun.

"S'with the face?" he asked, pulling out some torn clothing he'd ripped to clean the cut on her brow.

His tone was low and gritty like it usually was, but there was a tender element to it this time as he lifted the cloth and dabbed at the wounds on her head, concentrating with his working eye whilst the other sat hauntingly and glowing eerie white in the dim light. There was a gentleness to this man, she knew from watching him care for the Crawford group. A gentleness one could easily miss upon the first inspection, but which was definitely there, tucked away deep.

He wasn't as far gone as he cared to admit.

"Nothing," she denied, "I was just thinking about what happened. And wondering if everyone else is okay."

"Why wouldn't they be? What happened to make ya get captured by those guys? Where's Mark and the others? Where's _Beth_?"

"Whilst you were running after Steven, Beth and I encountered those two." She pointed to Aaron and Abraham, "In the woods. They told us they were with Rick, and they weren't lying because they _knew_ who Beth _was_. We were going to go back to the RV but the Saviors found us and attacked. They captured me, Aaron and Abraham, but Beth got away."

"Where'd she go?"

"She made it back to the RV because when the Saviors took us for a hostage exchange she was there. They all were there. Her, Steven . . . _Daryl_."

Dwight's eyes widened at that.

" _He_ was there? _Daryl_? _Beth's_ Daryl?

"Yes. The Saviors wanted to trade us for him and this woman, Rosita, but I told them Beth was our leader so they wanted her too. We were ready to do the trade, but then the RV drove away. Leaving us. Me, Aaron, and Abraham . . . Beth. Mark and Matty. The others got away but we were left there, as prisoners."

"Where're Mark and Matty now? Where's Beth now? They weren't with ya in the back of that truck so where . . . ?"

"There were other cars. In front of us. They were put in those."

"An' where are they headed?"

"I think . . . towards Negan's camp."

Dwight's face filled with chill and he dropped the cloth into his lap, staring at it with his exposed eye socket shaking.

Lilly didn't like that face.

She knew about his past with the Saviors, about Sherry, and this news was bound to stir awful memories for him. But he left his wife to go back to Savannah and save his people in Crawford. He found _her_ wandering the wilderness of the Georgia woods, alone in the aftermath of the battle of the prison, and brought her into his circle. His plan was always to go back and rescue his wife from Negan's clutches, but now that that time was drawing near, his uncertainty was beginning to show.

 _I'm like you. Doing whatever I can to keep the people I know safe._

Words Beth had spoken on their first meeting that resonated with Lilly, and Dwight too. Words that reminded them . . . They _had_ to try.

 _They're not safe now, an' I'm doing what I can to change that. Surely you must understand that?_

"Hey," she said, catching Dwight's attention and making him look at her.

Shadows crawled across his face like monsters, and the flushed pink of the burn was scabbed and dry. But his eyes—including the one that was burned—were filled with an uncharacteristic sense of dread.

 _Fear_.

"You left Negan's base with the intention of still going back to save Sherry," she reminded, "You were always going back there, that hasn't changed, and I know you can do this."

"What if I can't?"

"You _can_."

". . . What if what happened to Sally happens to everyone else?"

Lilly breathed out an empathetic sigh and reached out to clasp his hand.

He glanced at her with bewilderment.

"I can't guarantee what might happen, nor can I promise that something like that _won't_ happen . . . But. I know you're willing to fight and die for what you believe in, especially if it keeps the people you care about safe, and I want you to know that I'm _with_ you."

 _Your motives for killing are just, and your ambition has a sort of nobility to it, despite your sometimes crude words and vulgar vocabulary._

 _You might be a bit of a madman_ _. . ._ _But you're no Phillip Blake._

"I'm with you too," Shepherd said, coming over with a chunk of twigs and branches in her arms, "I want to save Beth and everyone else, and if we have to go into the lion's den to do it, then count me in."

"I'm in as well," Morgan said from his seat with Aaron and Abraham.

"And me," nodded Tanaka.

Lilly found herself smiling, despite it all, and Dwight stared at them all with disbelief at their loyalty.

Abraham stood up, brushing some dirt from his sleeve, and beamed an anticipatory grin.

"Well if you glory-fillies are so hell-bent on going through with this," he said, "Then I'm willin' to go through with it too. Can't learn news like Beth Greene being alive and fit as a fiddle without trying to get her back to her people. Maggie seein' her again will be better than any damn medicine a doctor can prescribe, so count my great big ass in as well."

"Me too," Aaron nodded, "And I can offer you our first move on how to get them back."

"An' what's that?" Dwight asked.

". . . We can take you to Rick Grimes and the rest of our group."

.

.

The community they pulled up to was a giant factory compound, smoke towers standing up tall and extending up from the forty-foot metal fencing that surrounded the place. Beth got out of the car door that Jake opened for her and stood staring up at the black smoke rising skyward with shaking lips, her heart sinking like a stone in the ocean. The place was a _whole_ lot bigger than what she'd had in mind.

"Move," one of the Saviors snapped, giving her a shove with the hilt of his rifle.

As she turned to look at him, she caught sight of Mark and Matty following behind, their wrists still bound and their mouths still gagged. They caught her eye and flashed her equally sinister looks, and she bit down on her tongue. There was no sign of Lilly from what she could see, or Aaron and Abraham. Perhaps they were further back and beyond her field of sight?

The same Savior gave her another shove with his gun.

"Move it, girl."

Suppressing her glare, Beth rubbed her tied wrists together against the cloth and started to walk, following Jake's lead and biting the inside of her cheek hard. As she was walking, Jake fell back a bit so that he was walking beside her, and leaned in slightly to lower his voice to speak to her.

"Welcome to The Sanctuary."

She bit her cheek harder.

"Don't lash out," he whispered, "But I need to put this gag back in your mouth now. Don't fight, or they'll gun ya down."

Passing him a glance, she didn't respond, but there was no aggressive defiance to indicate that she was refusing his intention, so he leaned over and put the gag back into her mouth. He didn't try to speak again for a while but still stayed walking right beside her. There was a kind of possessiveness to the way he was sticking by her, like he was warding off all the other Saviors who might dare come near. Like she was a possession of his that he would not tolerate being touched by anyone else.

She grinned against the gag. Having the favour of someone on the inside might come in useful for causing some damage and . . . _escaping_. Just as long as he didn't try to pull what Gorman had in mind.

But then again. She'd taken care of him.

She could do the same again.

The front gate was pulled open and everyone went strolling in, Jake grabbing Beth by the arm and pulling her along quickly. The same was being done to Mark and Matty a little behind, and eventually, they were all through the gate and inside the insidious 'sanctuary'. Beth didn't miss the barricade of live skewered walkers either.

Towering above like a concrete giant, the front of the old factory stood tall and menacing with that charcoal black smoke pumping up and out through the cylinders at the top. There were square windows laid along the front of the building—some cracked and some just plain missing—and a spiral staircase wound up the side of the outside wall. Feeling immensely overwhelmed by the sight, the last tall building structure she'd seen in a long time being the Grady Memorial Hospital, Beth felt a shudder creep up her spine. Casting a glance back at the fences with barbed wire at the top, she couldn't help but think of the prison, and this community only succeeded in polluting any kind memory she had of their former haven and turning it sour with black smoke.

 _Walls aren't safety_.

Jake elbowed her lightly and drew her attention away from the fences to make her look at him instead.

"Come on," he said, "I'll take you to Negan."

She glanced over at Mark and Matty.

He saw her glance.

"They're comin' too. It'll be better if we bring you all in at once anyway."

She looked back at him and stared, biting the gag hard as she did. He stared back at her, expression wavering at the coldness of hers that was mixed with forced dependency. On him. What he saw when he looked into her eyes was a dependency on _him_ , a sense of trust and belief in him, and he bought the act completely.

 _You're not a fighter_.

He tapped her arm again and gestured for his associates to bring Mark and Matty, then led her towards a door at the front of the factory. The staircase in front of them was old and charred with pollution, and Beth followed Jake up the steps with loud uneven _tap!_ s of her boot heels against the concrete. When she peered back over her shoulder at her two companions, Matty's gaze was on his feet, however, Mark's held the same question that she was thinking.

Where were Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham?

Giving him a firm stare that conveyed the message to remain calm, Mark nodded subtly and she turned her head back to face forward. She could feel the bolt pressing into her calf inside her boot, and the pressure was reassuring because it reminded her that she wasn't entirely defenceless.

If need be, she could fight back, and this weapon was far more effective than a pair of tiny medical scissors.

At the top of the first staircase, Jake turned down a corridor and lead them up to a door with a metal latch on the front. He opened it and brought them inside, then removed their gags whilst the other Saviors waited at the door to prevent any escape. The second Beth's gag was out, she opened her mouth and spoke.

"Where's the other three you had as prisoners?" she asked, "The ones you were going to trade for Daryl and Rosita?"

Jake looked at her as he untied the restraints on her wrists and shook his head.

"The van they were in never made it back. They were at the back of the formation, so nobody saw where the pricks went. We're sendin' people out to look for 'em though, they won't be free for long."

He undid Mark's and Matty's restrains then, and made his way over the door to leave until Beth stopped him.

"Wait. I thought you were taking us to see Negan. Why are we in here whilst you're leavin'?"

"It's late," was all he offered, "We'll take you to see Negan in the morning. In the meantime, ya should rest up an' gather your strength. God knows you're gonna need it."

She shook her head and took a step forward.

"Night, darlin'."

"No!"

He left the room with the other Saviors and closed the door behind him, the sound of a lock being chained and the latch sliding closed. Beth ran to the door and bashed on it with her fist, but there was no one on the other side of it anymore.

They were alone. Prisoners in a room in a place they could die at any second.

She stopped bashing on the door and slid her fists down the freezing metal, her knuckles grazed and bloody, and Mark and Matty came up behind her. She turned and looked at them, mouth opening but no words coming out to give them, so she closed it shortly after.

"Beth . . ." Mark started, "These people . . . They're gonna kill us. Aren't they?"

She didn't have an answer for that.

Matty walked and looked out of the narrow barred window at the other end of the cell, and gasped at something he saw.

"They're sending out cars," he remarked, "Probably to look for Lilly and those two from Rick's group, just like he said."

Beth and Mark walked away from the door and stood behind him, and they did, Beth's foot connected with something wobbly—a tile perhaps—and she stumbled into Mark's side.

He looked at her questioningly, and she looked down to see what she'd stood in.

There was a grate in the floor.

It had thin bars and gaps that made the dim space below visible, and Beth knelt down to look at it properly. The grate was loose but not probably able to be pulled up, though she tried and scraped her fingers in the process. With work, though . . . it _could_ be pried open.

"They _are_ gonna kill us," Matty breathed, spotting a splatter of blood on one of the walls, and Beth looked up from the grate to him.

"We don't know that," she countered, "He said he'd take us to Negan, to see if we can be of any use to him. He can't assess that if we're dead."

"And what if we're _not_ any use to him? He'll have no reason to keep us around then."

"Then we _make_ him have a reason."

They both stared at her with their brows crinkled and mouths drawn in tight frowns.

She elaborated.

"Tell him we have information he can use. Say we know things that'll benefit him in the long-run . . . Things about Rick."

"And what do we do when he wants to actually _know_ these things, kiddo?" Mark asked, "What'd we say then?"

She ran her fingers across the rust on the grate.

"Then we've got two options. Either we escape, or . . ."

 _Don't,_ Daryl pleaded _. Beth, please don't._ _You're not that person_. _Ya were never that person. Ya can't be_.

 _I'm not like you, but I can be that person if I need to be. I can and I_ will _be that person if I need to be, and nothing you say anymore is gonna stop me._

 _I'm done playing your game, all that ever did was just screw me over. The dog, the walkers, the moonshine, the scissors_ _. . ._ _I'm done._

 _From now on_ _,_ _I'm doing this my way._

"Or we kill him."

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	38. Something to fear

**Author's Corner**

So. Hello. As if things weren't already dark enough, here's where things might start to get a little... well, _horrific_. Or _more_ so, at least. I labelled the main genres for this fic as **horror** and **family** , and there's something that happens in this chapter that _really_ establishes that horror genre. I'm not going to tell you what happens, but there's a possibility that a few of you might be quite mad by the end of the chapter (pls don't kill me I'm just a simple farmer trying to grow her crops). Whatever happens, which I'm not telling you, just know that this chapter and the next will act as a distinct turning point in the story and drive the story in a new direction. Or more specifically - drive _Beth_ in a new direction.

It might be a good idea to remember the flash forward I included back in **Chapter 30** actually, because it's what happens now that forces us to head towards that.

As always, thank you so much for the wonderful feedback you all continue to give, I really appreciate all of it! I really wouldn't still be doing this if not for you, so your responses mean the world to me. Thank you for listening to me ramble (again) and please scroll down to the chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Lilly went still in the woods just south of D.C. Dwight almost bumped into her because of how violently she stopped, and he opened his mouth to demand what was wrong before she shoved her hand over his mouth and silenced him.

She held a finger to her lips to silence the others, her other hand still clasped over Dwight's mouth, and blinked the white spots in her vision away. There was a chance she could've imagined it, but a moment ago it sounded like there'd been _footsteps_. Boots crunching against the dry autumn leaves, and the snapping of twigs underfoot. She was about to remove her hand from over Dwight's mouth and say that she'd made a mistake . . . when it sounded again.

 _Undeniably_ , distant crunches in the leaves.

Dwight pulled her hand away from his face and gripped his crossbow, the weapon already loaded and ready to fire, and gestured for Morgan and Abraham to follow him. Shepherd, Tanaka, and Aaron came up quietly beside her and also drew their weapons, a pounding headache throbbing in Lilly's head as she felt the sting of the injuries across her body.

The crunching was still audible, but it ceased suddenly when Morgan's foot connected with a thin twig, and the pressure of his boot snapped it vigorously in two.

They stopped, bodies freezing and their weapons pointed ahead, where the sound had emitted from and waited for another sound or movement. When nothing happened for a while, Dwight turned his head to speak, but was stopped by the sound of the safety being clipped off a gun.

"Stay right fuckin' there, prick," a man's voice called.

Dwight turned statue-like.

Slowly, a figure emerged from the bushes where they'd heard the sound, and stood with his gun pointed at the back of Dwight's head. He looked rough and unkempt, like a wild thing thirsting for meat, and there was a large _letter_ carved into the center of his forehead. Like branding.

 _'_ _W'_

"Turn around," he ordered, "Slowly. An' drop that bow so I know we're not gonna have any funny business."

Lowering to the ground cautiously, Dwight laid his bow down in the leaves and flashed Lilly a tense glance, before turning with his hands held up at either side of his head.

She heard the startled exhale of breath he let off at the sight of the stranger.

"Y'know I _thought_ it was you!" the _'W'_ man cried with a ruthless laugh, "Few of you looked familiar but I wasn't sure at first . . . Only it _is_ after all, which is good news for me because it means I can finally pay ya back for what you and yer little blonde bitch _did_ t'me!"

Morgan's eyes widened with realisation.

" _You_." he breathed, and the man just laughed hideously.

"Remember me, do ya?" he taunted, waving the gun in their direction, "Do y'also remember how ya had me tied to a tree and _tortured_ , then left me there t'die!? That ringin' any bells?"

The look on Dwight's face was practically haunting, his expression laced with rage, dread, and remorse, and Morgan shared that same sense of horror.

"Wait a minute," Lilly intervened, stepping forward, "What's he talking about? Who _is_ he?"

The man turned his attention to her and stared at her with narrowed eyes, the _'W'_ gleaming like jaws, before he flashed an amused revolting grin, his teeth cracked and flaked with brown.

"Didn't ya tell your guys about what you'd done?" he asked Dwight, "Of course ya didn't. Didn't wanna tell 'em you watched your precious lady friend mock an' interrogate me? That she told you to _torture_ the information she wanted outta me, an' you did as she asked like a good little lapdog? Where is she now, by the way? Blondie . . . Where's she at?"

"Is he talking about Beth?" Shepherd asked.

A look of perverse euphoria washed over his face at that, and he hummed in appreciation.

" _Beth_ _. . ._ " he whispered, "So that's the pretty little whore's name. Now that I know that, I can _really_ give her some . . . _ravishin_ _'_ , before I tear her damn throat out for leavin' me there to die."

Dwight growled.

"You won't fuckin' _dare_."

He waved the gun higher to aim at Dwight's forehead and smirked. "Don't like havin' your whore shared with other men?" he taunted, "That's a real damn shame. Pretty selfish too, don't ya think?"

Lilly could _feel_ Dwight's blood boiling from where she stood and knew she had to do something before he blew his top and got himself and the rest of them killed.

Moving forward slowly, her gun still held up and aimed at the stranger, she spoke.

"Just put the gun down, please, nobody has to get hurt here. Beth's not with us, she was captured by bad people, people worse than both of _us_. We're just trying to help get her back. Please don't make this into something it doesn't have to be."

"What kind o' bad people?" he asked, brow quirked and curious.

"They call themselves The Saviors."

His expression fell grave at that, and his jaw tightened.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I warned her about them," he said, "I _told_ her she'd want t'steer clear of those people. Looks like she didn't listen."

"You know about The Saviors?"

"He said his group were runnin' from them," Dwight said quietly, "He's part of a group called _The_ _Wolves_. They're scavengers, and from spendin' a short time with The Saviors myself, I can't blame them for wantin' to stay away."

"That's right," the Wolf said, hearing the words, "We do want to stay as many miles away from Negan an' his guys as possible. Anyone in their right mind would."

". . . We _have_ to get her back." Lilly offered, and she could have sworn that she saw the man lower his gun just a little.

"What're ya gonna do to make that happen?"

"Alexandria can—"

"Er _hem_! That's enough insight for him," Abraham cut her off mid-sentence, "We can't let him get away knowing things like that. He'll take it back to his people all dandy, and use it against us. We have to make sure he doesn't."

"How?"

The look in Abraham's eyes was answer enough, and the Wolf caught on to what he was implying.

He laughed and pointed the gun at the redhead. "Y'think I'm just gonna let you kill me? Think I'll let that happen? I'll fuckin' end _you_ first."

"I wouldn't be so sure," was all Dwight said . . . when Tanaka appeared behind the Wolf and pressed his gun right against the back of his head.

He'd used the man's talking and snuck around the trees so that he was behind him, whilst the attention was on anyone but him.

The Wolf bit his lip with his rotten teeth and dropped his gun, Tanaka's pushing against his skull from behind, then laughed.

"Scored one against me, eh?" he chuckled.

"People don't tend to focus much on the guy with only one arm," Tanaka said, "Makes it easier to turn the tables on them and force the odds in _my_ favour."

"I can see that! Well played, Chinaman. Well played."

When Lilly expected him to just tie his wrists and haul him along, Tanaka slammed the barrel of his gun down against the Wolf's head and knocked him out cold, sending him toppling to the ground in a graceless crumple. He picked up his gun and strapped it to his belt alongside his own, and cast a sharp glance down at the unconscious Wolf.

"I'm _Japanese_."

They did tie his hands together then, but they didn't leave him like Dwight and Beth had. This time they took him with them; Morgan and Abraham pulling him along once he'd been stripped off any secret weapons he could use to fight them off with, but of course, that was if his wrists _weren't_ bound.

Aaron took the lead, jogging ahead just a little to get a better look at their surroundings, and before Lilly knew it, they came across signs of a settlement.

There were fresh tire marks on the road they came out onto, and when she looked out into the distance there was a community structure on the horizon. A town of sorts. Aaron walked out onto the road and put his hands on his hips, grinning widely at the sight of what Lilly assumed was none other than the Alexandria Safe Zone.

"That it?" she asked, coming to stand beside him.

He nodded, "That's it. _Alexandria_. It's been a while since I last saw home . . . And I'm not sure how they're gonna react when I come marching in with a bunch of strangers, no doctor, and half of my original posse either missing or captured."

"They're going to be okay," she reassured him, "You have to believe they will. Daryl and Rosita got away in the RV. So did Steven. Your friends aren't in any real danger as long as they stay away from trouble, and the doctor you were sent to retrieve is still alive. It might not be a win, but I'd say that's not exactly a _loss_."

He curled his lips and creased his brow, but seemed a little reassured by what she'd said.

"It's not enough of a win as I'd have liked though. I promised I'd find a doctor and bring one back to help Maggie, she was in bad shape when I left. I don't know how she is now, but I owe it to her at least to do this."

"Beth's sister, Maggie?"

He nodded. "I promised that, and now I'm coming back without what she needs, and to make it worse . . . I've lost her sister too."

"Hey. You can't blame yourself for what happened, okay? We'll get Beth back. We'll tell your people what happened and we'll get her back. We will. It's not your fault. Plus . . . There might actually be someone who can _help_ with your missing doctor problem."

He looked at her in confusion, Dwight passing where they stood along with the carried unconscious Wolf and the rest, and she gave a tiny smile.

"I'm not a doctor, but I was a nurse before—oncology and cancer research. I might not be as helpful or qualified as Steven in the field of pregnancy, but I know the general knowledge you need to be able to pass the tests . . . I'll do my best to help her. I promise."

Aaron smiled too then, and a burden seemed to have been lifted from his shoulders at having not come back as empty-handed as he'd thought.

Lilly's smile widened and she gave him a nod, before carrying on walking after the others, and watching the walls of the safe zone drawing closer with every step.

.

.

The latch lifted and the door swung open.

Beth sat up on the stiff bed mattress and saw Jake standing in the doorway. Mark and Matty also rose, flashing her glances before Jake opened his mouth to speak.

"Come on," he said, "Time to meet your maker."

He waited for the three of them to walk out of the holding cell before leading them down the corridor, two more Saviors tailing behind in case they tried anything, and Beth gritted her teeth together as they walked.

When given the chance, she knew what she had to do. The only problem was figuring out when that chance would come, and how to ensure that it didn't go south like the last time she'd tried something like that.

 _I get it now._

 _I do._

She swallowed.

Jake led them down a series of halls and stairways until they eventually came out into a courtyard of sorts, and told them to stand in a line and wait. Beth stood quietly, Mark, and Matty on either side of her, and tried to calm her rapidly beating heart by twisting her fingers together in front of her. The pressure of the wooden quiver in her boot helped remind her that she wasn't entirely defenceless, but a chill was creeping up her spine that she didn't like. A chill similar to the one she felt when she was stood on one side of the fence staring out at The Governor's men and the giant tank rolling up to the prison.

It felt like they were standing there for a long time, and the anticipation did nothing to ease Beth's frantic pulse. Mark brushed her arm at one point, making her look at him, and gave her a look of reassuring—or, as best as he could muster in the midst of his own fear. She gave him a tiny nod in return, before turning her attention back to the huge garage door that was beginning to rise . . .

The chill latched onto her bones and forced an involuntary shudder out of her.

A _man_ walked out from under the garage door. A man who towered above most with his height and stood out in menacing contrast because of his dark leather coat and black hair. He had a greying beard which would usually soften a man's features, from what Beth's previous experiences told her, only on him it just further fuelled the hazard. He walked towards them with a confident stride, shoulders iron and expression filled with a kind of sickening delight that made Beth's stomach churn . . . A churning that made it clear that this man could only be _one_ particular man . . .

Negan chuckled.

A low, breathy hiss that reminded Beth of a snake, and stopped just before he reached them.

"Lot of shoulders shaking here," he remarked, and his voice sent even more shudders along the back of Beth's neck.

His lips curled into a grin when his eyes fixed on Beth and he held the _barbed wire coated baseball bat_ he was carrying over his shoulder.

 _Christ_ , she thought at the sight.

"Hello," he said, addressing her, "You're _Beth_ , am I right? That's what my men tell me. Now you certainly _are_ an interesting fucking sight. You and your little shaking shoulders."

She could feel herself shivering violently, as much as she tried to still the movements, but she couldn't stop them. Her eyes were pricking with wetness too, and she pressed her teeth together tightly to hold in the lump that was growing in her throat.

Whilst trying to maintain her composure as best as she could, beads of sweat began to build on her brow and roll down her face, and he laughed again.

"Sheesh. Lighten up. Feel free to cry if you need to. You're only a _kid_ after all."

The label cut through her like a knife.

 _Don't call me that_.

He looked at Jake and addressed him, tone still eerily calm and neutral.

"What is this? She's a fucking little _girl_! And you're tryin' to tell me _she's_ in charge of a big group that _you_ let get away in an RV?"

"I, that's what . . . That's what one of her people said." Jake replied, tripping over his words.

"Take a look at her. You _really_ think she's capable of pulling something like the pricks from Alexandria and Rick Grimes have been pulling?"

Beth gasped a little too loudly at the mention of Rick's name, and Negan rose his eyebrows at her outcry. He seemed to dismiss it as due to fright though, but did turn his attention from Jake back onto her.

He eyed Mark and Matty.

"These your guard dogs?" he asked, "They help you run your group and keep 'em in order? A kid like you couldn't shoulder that weight alone. You've gotta have someone helping ya, right? Tell me I'm right."

She swallowed the giant lump in her throat and opened her mouth, willing the words to come out and not sound shaky or as if she was about to burst into tears.

". . . I . . . I'm not a kid." was all that came out erratically, and he laughed.

"Well then pardon me, little lady! You must be older than you look. Maybe it's the trembling, or the tears I see you trying to blink away. Don't feel you have to hold 'em in. If they gotta flow, they gotta flow."

He stared at her for a few more moments before pulling his portentous baseball bat down from his shoulder and holding it almost _tenderly_.

"But I do have to ask you this . . ." he continued, "I'm under the impression that you're responsible for my men's failure to capture Daryl Dixon and his buddies, and that he got away in _your_ getaway van. That right?"

She remained silent, and he shook his head.

"Gotta work with me here, Bethany. That is your full name, right? Isn't it? Come on, _answer_ me."

She nodded, breathing a _yes_ with her tears wobbling at the bobbing of her head, and he smirked.

"That's it. I always prefer the longer names over the shortened versions. Sounds better every time. _Stronger_. Of course it's easier to shout the shortened names when you're letting them at your dick, but still, nicknames cheapen that power somehow, don't ya think? Anyways. Moving on. Can you confirm if what I just said to you about Daryl Dixon and his companions is true, _Bethany_?"

She nodded again.

"Good. The next thing I need you to answer for me is . . . Where are they going?"

 _Don't tell him_.

She didn't even know the answer in the first place to be able to withhold it.

"Hm?" he hummed, leaning in closer to let his hot breath wisp all over her face, "Where the _fuck_ are they _going_? Huh?"

". . . I—I don't—"

"Leave her alone!"

Beth felt her tongue grow four times thicker at Matty's outcry, and Negan cast his glance across at the man to give him a thoughtful stare. She steadied her frantic breathing and also looked at Matty, willing him to stay quiet with her eyes, but Negan was already moving sideward and getting close to his face. He studied him for a while, eyes flicking from him to Beth before his brows drew down with a tickled curve.

"You two fuckin'?" he asked crudely, "That why ya say ya ain't a kid anymore? Because he's making you a woman with his floppy little dick?"

Negan reached out suddenly and palmed Matty's crotch hard, making all three of them gasp in shock at the motion.

Negan just laughed, whilst Jake and the other Saviors expressed submissive glances at one another and shot Matty what could be interpreted as looks of pity. Matty chomped down on his bottom lip, Negan's hand still clutching his lower regions, and flickered his eyes down to below and then back up again rapidly.

"You sticking it to her, you fuckin' disgusting _kiddie fiddler_?" Negan jeered, squeezing his balls painfully, "Do you like 'em young? How old even isshe? _Fourteen_? Answer me, dickwad!"

"Sh— _Ack!_ —She's eighteen!"

" _Eighteen!_? Jesus fucking _Christ_! You look younger than ya are, girl. A _lot_ fucking younger! Eighteen? Holy Easter Bunny's shiny balls!"

Beth felt her tears building more thickly, his comments about her lack of womanly features and more childlike figure rubbing on her self-confidence, though those things should be the _last_ of her worries in that moment. But the humiliation was so stinging, so degrading, she wanted to cover herself and just run, run far and as fast she could. Away from this terrible, _terrible_ man.

Giving one more vigorous tug at Matty's crotch with his palm, causing him to wince sharply, Negan let go, and took a step back.

Beth had no idea what he might do next, so before she broke down and started crying uncontrollably, she decided to try and turn the situation around a little.

 _Try_.

"W—Wait . . ." she breathed in-between heavy breaths, "We can _help_ you."

He swung his bat a little and put the other hand on his hip. "Help?" he echoed, his interest apparently peaked, "And how would you do that? Finally willing to let it slip on where your people are going with Daryl and company?"

Steeling herself, she swallowed again and balled her fists.

". . . We have information on Rick Grimes and his group. That's something I think you'd like to have, right?"

His brows lowered and he gave her a very calculating stare.

She went on.

"If you keep us alive, then I promise . . . we'll tell you whatever it is you wanna know, providing that we know the answers ourselves. That's a better deal than just playin' with us and makin' us cry . . . isn't it?"

The other Saviors started murmuring things indistinctly to one another whilst Negan seemed to be _considering_ her offer, and she could feel Mark and Matty glancing down at her.

Eventually, Negan _smiled_ , a great shining white grin, and cocked his head to the side with intrigue.

"Resourceful," he commented, swinging his bat again, "Good move. Really good fucking move. Maybe now I'm starting to see how you hold your pedestal position in your group. I'll _accept_ that wonderful offer because I wanna know _how_ you know what you claim to know as well. So you got yourself a deal, Bethany."

Resisting the urge to let her eyes go wide, Beth maintained her reasonably stoic expression and nodded. She almost could feel a smile of victory coming on, if not for the fact that she felt like she was going to topple over because of how hard she'd been trembling.

Until he opened his mouth to speak again.

" _However_ _,_ " he said, tapping at his lip thoughtfully in a purposely melodramatic manner, "I _am_ gonna need some assurance that you'll talk, and that you actually _have_ something to talk _about_. Plus, somebody's gotta pay for letting them all get away."

Beth's brows creased and she waited for him to elaborate, all the while with that awful freezing chill creeping back up her neck.

"We gotta have some discipline here. Draw some lines so you know I'm not just some easy-going, pussy pushover. Someone's got to get fucking _punished_."

"Why? Why does someone need to be punished?" Beth asked, her voice having gone painfully timid, "We'll tell you what we know. We will. You have my word."

"Oh, Bethany. I'm afraid that your _word_ just isn't gonna cut it here. You see, we need something proper. Something set in stone. Something we can look back at and fucking jerk off to if we really want. Something that's _guaranteed_ to make sure you _talk_."

"Like what?" Matty asked, and Negan's smile widened.

". . . I have a feeling you're gonna regret asking that."

He hand-gestured to his men and whistled as if they were dogs. "Hey, hold the others back, make sure they don't get in the way and get this stupid fuck on his knees now. _He's_ got a date with my gorgeous lady friend. _Lucille_ is her name, what do you think? Isn't she just _beautiful_? Now don't get excited, but she's gonna give you a little kiss, and it'll be so fucking awesome, you might trip over your dick and never get back up again, if you know what I mean."

It took Beth a while to figure out that he was talking about his _baseball bat_ when he said Lucille, and he held the object tenderly again, running a finger along one of the sharp knots in the barbed wire.

Jake came and wrapped his underneath her arms and around her then, clamping her to his chest lightly, whilst she thrashed and shot him a horrified look. The look he gave her in return was haunting and grave, and she shuddered at the foreboding gleaming in his eyes.

Another Savior came and restrained Mark, and they watched Matty as he lowered down to his knees in front of Negan.

"Also," Negan said, holding his bat up and giving it a test swing, "I'll just say this now, so you two are a little more comfortable watching. You can breathe, you can blink, you can cry, all of that. I'm sure your _bitch_ would really fucking appreciate the last sounds he hears before he gets a kiss from Lucille . . . being your screams, Bethany."

It was then that Beth realised what he was going to do, and she thrashed against Jake harder, screaming maniacally.

" _NO_! No, please! Please don't! Please—!"

And then he swung that baseball bat down over Matty's head and crushed the front of his skull with a loud, damp _squelch!_

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 **Author's Corner**

Bear with me.


	39. Letters to a songbird

**Author's Corner**

Hello! Thanks as usual for the feedback and wonderful comments you all leave.

Sorry for depression simulator, because sadly this chapter isn't any happier than the last. :') There's another shift though, one I think you'll prefer to the constant misery porn I've been pouring down your throats, and there might be a flicker of... _hope_? We'll have to see. There's something I think you'll like in the next chapter too, but unfortunately I won't be able to post it for two weeks because I'm going away on holiday and _THERE'S NO WIFI_ (how will Maga survive)

But anyway, thanks for sticking with me, even though all I do is upset and torture you (again I'm soz), and I hope you enjoy the next chapter!

Oh quick fyi, because I don't know if I told you on here - I'm writing a prequel to this called **"Where Are You?"** , written from the POV of Maggie and exploring how she deals with what happened to Beth in Coda. There's only a few chapters in total and it's almost done, but I'm afraid it's not any happier than this, so if you're looking for fluff, I wouldn't recommend that. You should read it though, because there's a lot of links to this fic and I think it'll help a lot of you understand Maggie's response to the ordeal more.

 **Disclaimer:** TWD still ain't mine.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

Mark's screams cut through the temporary haze that had fallen over Beth and drew her out of her fog-induced state and back to the present.

Her vision had clouded over for a sliver of a second, and it was Mark's desperate shouts and cries for his brother that broke through the miasma; shattered the smokescreen. And the horror intensified.

" _NO_!" he roared, fighting against the Saviors that held him, whilst Beth blinked some of the distortions away and looked over to the brutal bludgeoning, "Please! _Stop_!"

Matty had fallen onto his front with the force of the swings, yet Negan was still bashing away at his head like a monstrous child destroying a doll.

 _Squelch!_

 _Splat!_

 _Crunch!_

The sounds of bones snapping and flesh being torn apart by the metal wire cut into Beth's ears and made them feel as if they were bleeding too, and Matty had stopped crying out by now. He just laid there, face down in the cobblestones, lifeless as Negan continued to beat him to a bloody pulp of mush.

"PLEASE STOP!" she screeched so loud that it felt like she'd torn a lung.

Negan did stop.

He glanced over at her, where she was thrashing against Jake wildly, snot and tears running down her face into her mouth, and stopped swinging Lucille. He shook some droplets of blood and guts off of the weapon and stepped back, almost admiring his work, before staring at Beth and Mark sinisterly.

"I take it I've made myself perfectly fucking clear?" he rasped.

Beth sagged against Jake, trembling with not only fear, but _rage_ , whilst Mark whined and cried hysterically at the sight of his practically crushed brother.

"Good," Negan nodded, "Now somebody get this body out of here. It fucking stinks."

Mark tried to put up some protest at that, but one of the Saviors knocked him over the head with his gun and sent him toppling forward onto the ground. Beth panicked when they leaned down and picked him up, then hauled him away somewhere, leaving her completely alone amongst Saviors.

Negan walked up to her, the bat still dripping with blood— _his_ blood—and smiled again.

"Well then, Bethany. Now that you know how absolutely fuckin' serious I am, I hope you'll keep it in mind if you try to do anything humorous while you're here. Like . . . busting out."

She shivered again, but the wrath in her eyes only doubled. She stared at him and projected every single ounce of fire she had in her body at him, and he studied her curiously.

Gone was the little mouse that had cowered before him in fear.

Somewhere along the way, she had become something else . . . and he knew it.

"Take her back to the cells," he said, before walking away himself.

.

.

Jake volunteered to take her back to the holding rooms and walked with her through the hallways. He didn't try to speak to her until they reached the iron door, and she glared at him with pure venom in her gluey eyes.

"Sorry about back there," he muttered, "He was your friend—or more, and . . . I'm sorry."

"You just stood there."

He blinked.

"You say you're sorry but when it was all happening you were just _standing_ there, holdin' me back. You could've _done_ something. You could've stopped it! You—"

"I _wanted_ to. I wanted to stop it from happenin' but I _couldn't_. If I did, he'd'a killed me too. Or punished me, or just cast me out to die. It's all about survival in here, and you gotta remember what that means when it comes to stayin' alive."

 _It's all about survival now._

Her own words to the Wolf echoed back at her in his voice, and the hairs stood up on her arms and neck.

Jake sighed, ". . . I don't expect ya to trust me, but please . . . Don't go getting' yourself killed. Ya have to be careful, and _clever_ , and I know for certain you're the latter. Really think I was fallin' for your little trick in the car on the way here, darlin'?"

She frowned at that before her eyes went wide, and the remainder of the tears fell down her cheeks.

"You're smart," he said, _earnestly_ too, "You know how to survive, an' ya know how to keep other people alive too. You wouldn't be in charge of that group out there if ya didn't. So I'm tellin' you this now, knowin' full well I could get my throat slit for this . . . _Keep_ bein' smart. Keep on pretendin', because not everyone in here is as observant as me, and they sure as hell won't think to overlook your appearance. No matter what mask you put on."

"Why are you helping me?" she breathed, and he went quiet.

He stayed quiet for a moment, tightening his lips and studying her, before sighing again and producing a grimace.

"I don't know."

Somehow she sensed that was a lie, but she didn't get the chance to force the truth out of him, because he opened the door and gestured her in, then pulled it closed behind her. She stood staring at the cold metal for a while, thinking he'd gone, when his voice sounded for the final time through the door,

"Hang in there," he said, and the sound of his footsteps grew more distant before they eventually echoed away.

Beth slid down to her knees and leaned against the cold iron door. She pressed her cheek against the cool metal of the door and blew out a steady breath, fingers tapping against her thighs in a sort of rhythm she was trying to fill the lonely silence with. Something to cover up the sound of bludgeoning and screams.

She'd wanted to kill him. Wanted to _now_ more than ever, but she'd only just fully realised the true extent of how far she'd waded into that sea, and perhaps she'd waded in too far because she couldn't see the shore anymore. Couldn't see anything.

There was only an endless ocean.

.

.

Some time into the night, still sitting in that same place by the door, she remembered.

It was as if she'd been struck with the reminder like a harsh slap across the face, and she suddenly remembered the _letter_ Rosita had given her back in the RV, before the chaotic separation . . .

 _Maggie's_ letter.

Scrambling around inside her boot and pulling out the bolt which she'd rolled the tatty envelope around, she unrolled the envelope and stared at it.

 _BETH_ ; written in a messy cursive scrawl on the front, paper stained with dirt and dried liquids.

She turned it over and opened the back, fingers shaking as she tugged the slip of paper out and unfolded it to read.

 ** _BETH_ _,_**

 _It's me. Maggie. I know you're never going to get the chance to read this, and even if you could, I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I messed up. I did. I messed up so badly, and it's because of that that this happened to you. And I wanted to write this because even though you won't ever read it, I wanted you to know that I'm sorry._

 _I am. I'm so, so sorry._

 _After I left you by the bus at the prison, I went back with Glenn. When I saw that you weren't there, I got off and went to look for you, but I couldn't find you. I looked and I looked and I LOOKED, but you weren't there._

 _So I thought you must be dead too._

 _But then we found Daryl, and he told me you'd got out, that you_ _weren't_ _dead, and a tiny part of me started to believe again. But despite knowing that, I still got in the truck with Abraham and headed to D.C. Because I made him a promise, and we Greenes don't go back on our promises, do we? I had a job to do so I did it, but that doesn't excuse the way I treated you. Not in a million years. And then when I thought I'd found you again and had the chance to tell you all this instead of writing it down like some pathetic poet_ _. . ._ _You were dead._

 _Only for real that time._

Beth could feel more tears stirring behind her sore eyes, and a new lump began to form in her throat as she read the words. Tears were beginning to roll down her cheeks now, and her eyes stung with the constant flow of salty hot droplets that continued to leak. Yet she still carried on.

 _Do you remember those nights we used to spend lying on the hill back on the farm? We'd lie there beneath the stars and stare up at them, like they were the best kinds of wonders we'd ever see. I've been thinking about that a lot, and I probably will for the rest of my life, because those stars weren't the greatest wonders I'd ever seen_ _. . ._ _And do you know what was?_

 _You_ _._

 _It was you, Beth. You were, and still are, the_ _best_ _thing about my life, and I'm sorry that I didn't realise it sooner, because if I had I would've told you. There's so many things I would've told you if I'd known I'd have to wake up one day with you not here._

 _I wish you were still here. I wish you were here all the time_ _, and it hurts so bad because it's MY fault that you're not, and no amount of times I say I'm sorry isn't going to change that. So I'll end on this note, like a pathetic, sorry poet, and totally not because I'm worried if I don't stop soon, I won't ever be able to_ _. . ._

 _I love you._

 _I love you and I'm so sorry I let this happen to you. I hope you can forgive me. And if we're lucky, maybe we'll meet again someday. Maybe we all will. You, me, Daddy, my mom and your mom, Shawn, Patricia, Otis, Jimmy_ _. . ._ _Maybe we'll all see each other again someday. I hope so, because I want to say all this to you, but right now I can't, so this letter will have to do._

Beth let out a whimper as a violent sob ran through her, and she clutched the paper tight, running her fingers across the smudged ink and dirt, as she finally reached the end.

 _I believe in you, Bethy. I'm sorry that it took me so long, and I'm sorry that I wasn't the sister you deserved, but I do. I believe. So this is where I should say goodbye, because I didn't get the chance to say goodbye in real life. I never would've left you there if I had the choice, but I didn't, and now what's done is done. And I'm the one who has to live with that. But I won't say goodbye, because that feels too final to me._

 _Instead, I'll say_ _goodnight_ _. That feels more right. Less harsh. Sort of gentle_ _. . ._ _Like morning can still come._

 _Goodnight, Beth Greene._  
 _Goodnight and joy be with you,_ _always_ _._

 ** _MAGGIE._**

Closing the letter and just holding it for a while, Beth stared up at the mouldy ceiling and breathed deeply, willing the tears on her cheeks to dry. She held the paper close to her chest and closed her eyes, and before she knew it . . . She began to hum. Soft and low, gentle acapella emitting out into the empty cell and bouncing off the barren walls and back then into her ears.

Before long, her humming became quiet vocals. Each word a tiny whisper of musical tune and prayer. Words that carried the essence and prayer of Maggie.

 _"And all the sweethearts_ _. . ._  
 _That e'er I had,_  
 _They are sorry_ _. . ._ _for my going away."_

A silent call to her elder sister, desperate, like a lost little cub calling for its parents and siblings, screaming into the empty night for them to come home and find her.

 _"But since it falls unto my lot,_  
 _That I should rise,_  
 _And you should not."_

She said that she sang, that was what she said back then, and she did.

She still sang.

 _"I'll gently rise,_  
 _And I'll softly call_ _. . ._  
 _Goodnight_ _. . ._ _and joy be with_ _you all."_

"That's pretty music."

She jumped and slammed her face against the door in surprise, and stopped her quiet singing instantly.

The voice had come from the other side of the door—female, undoubtedly—and Beth sat up and pressed her ear against the door.

She listened intently, hearing the buzz echo through the hard metal, and the sound of steady breathing was audible ever so slightly, and a chill ran down Beth's neck as she thought of who could have been listening to her . . . and for how long. She stuffed Maggie's letter back into its envelope and rolled it back around the bolt, before tucking it back safely into her boot and addressing the voice.

"Hello?" she called eventually, tone quiet and cautious, and at first, she thought it might not have even been heard, until the other voice spoke again.

"Hello."

Her tongue darted out and moistened her parched cracked lips.

"Who are you?"

"Names aren't safe in here, but I'm a friend, I swear."

"A _friend_?"

"Yes."

Beth frowned, "How can I take your word for it? This could be a ploy to get me to talk. I don't know anythin' about you, yet you claim you're a friend?"

"You don't have any reason to trust me," the voice said after a few moments hesitation, "But you have to believe that I want to help you. I know what happens to women like you and me here, and believe me . . . It's not great."

"You're talking about Negan and his collection of wives, right?"

"Right. You've heard about that? Well, I suppose if you're with Mark and Dwight, then you must have."

Beth's eyebrows quirked.

"You know Dwight?" she asked softly, and she didn't get a response for another few moments.

" _I_ agreed to be Negan's wife," the voice diverted, "And trust me on this at _least_ — you do _not_ want that. You don't."

 _How about it, Bethy?_

"What happened to Mark?" she decided to change the subject, sensing the discomfort in the woman's tone, "Where was he taken after what happened?"

"The holding cells in the basement level. He'll be questioned and conditioned, see if any information can be taken out of him, and if not, he'll be dealt with."

Beth bit her lip.

"What do you want?" she asked finally, "Seriously. What do you get outta this? How do I know I can trust you?"

There was silence again, and for a minute Beth thought that the woman might have got up and left.

Until she spoke again.

"I don't want to see you go through the things I did. I don't wanna sit by and watch you slide into chains too. I want to _do_ something, that's not kissing Negan's ass and worshipping his every idea. I want to help someone _good_."

 _There's still good people._

 _I don't think the good ones survive._

 _See?_ she thought firmly _. You weren't right about everything after all. You weren't right about anything really._

"What's your name? I'm guessin' you already know mine, so make it fair and tell me yours. Show me I can trust you."

 _There's still good people. There ARE. There still are. No matter how well hidden and seemingly non-existent they may be._

 _There's still good people._

"It's Sherry. My name is Sherry."

 **.**

 **.**


	40. Breakout 001

**Author's Corner**

Hello again everyone! Sorry for the wait, I hope you weren't waiting with too much anticipation, aha.

If you're a fan of horror/action, I think you might like this chapter. I, for one, _really_ enjoyed writing this one, as well as the one that follows directly after (for reasons I won't say bc spoilers). I suppose you could say that these next two are kind of like two interlinking parts, meaning this chapter will probably end on a cliffhanger (which I know you all love lmao) that ties straight onto the next. So go ahead and read on, and please don't scream when you get to the end, because I think you probably might. I'm going to have to go into hiding because of this, yikes.

Thanks as usual for the wonderful feedback and don't be shy to leave a comment if you have any thoughts/questions.

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD, obviously.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

Beth scrambled against the door and planted her palms flat against it.

"Sherry?" she called disbelievingly, and a surprised gasp sounded from the other side of the metal, "Is that . . . It is really Sherry?"

"Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

Beth breathed out a hopeful sigh and very nearly smiled.

"I know who you are," she said, "You're Dwight's wife. You both came here from Savannah looking for a better place than Crawford, but you ended up finding something _worse_. Dwight got away, but you were left stuck here."

"How do you . . . ?"

"He told me. He told me everything. They're all here, in the area, him and the rest of the people from Crawford. We're scattered, some missing I'll admit, but we're here . . . _He's_ here. He came to find you."

"But you don't know where he is now?"

Beth stammered, "I . . . No, I don't. But we have to get out. Then we can find him. Is there any way to get out of here that you know of? Any way at all?"

She sat like that for a while, waiting for an answer with her hands plastered against the cold iron. She was waiting for so long that she thought again that Sherry might've left, until finally she spoke again.

"There is no way out."

She shook her head.

"There has to be. There's _always_ a way out, no matter what the situation."

"There isn't, I'm sorry. There's no escape from Negan. I've been stuck here for months, and now, so are you. So your only choices are—becoming his wife, which I came to try and persuade you not to do, working labour, or . . . _death_."

 _There's always a way out._

 _Always._

"You said you wanted to help me though," Beth said, "How were you planning on doing that exactly if there isn't a way out?"

"I meant in regards to making it in _here_. I want to help you stay alive."

"Then you can _do_ that by thinkin' of ways we can get _out_ of here."

Beth was surprised herself by the harsh sharpness of her tone, but then she realised that she'd subconsciously made a particular choice. She couldn't kill Negan. Not on her own at least. She needed help. Manpower. And the right timing. And she wasn't going to get any of those in here. So after witnessing what Negan was willing to do—the memory of Matty's beaten form permanently burned into her memory—her mind had gone automatically to the next best option of survival . . .

Escape.

She'd tried it before in Grady, successfully getting Noah out for him to bring Rick and the group running to her aid. But this place was more complicated than Grady. There were more foes in The Sanctuary, more elaborate pathways to calculate an escape with, and it wasn't like there was an elevator shaft she could climb down to make her way out of . . .

But wait.

"Hold on," she told Sherry, before clambering up and running towards the other end of the cell where the window was.

Lowering to her knees, she fussed with the grate in the floor and vigorously tried to haul it up. The metal was old and rusty, set in place and almost impossible to move.

The key word there being _almost_.

With one aggressive pull, the grate came up, and she pushed it aside to reveal the dark vent space below.

"What're you doing?" Sherry's voice came through the metal, hearing the noises.

Running back to the door, Beth answered frantically.

"There's a grate in the floor. It looks like it leads into some vents above the rooms below. You said they were holding Mark down in the basement level. Do you think there's a way to get to him that way?"

"Well, yeah. The vents lead down that way and come out near the water filtration machines. But I thought you wanted to get out?"

"Not without him. I'm not leavin' him here to die like his brother."

 _Too many people have died already._

 _Far too many._

 _So it's time that ends._

". . . All right," Sherry's voice echoed, "Then I'll help you. There _is_ a way out that way, but it'll be difficult, and if I tell you, you have to promise to get me out too."

"I will. I promise. Where is it?"

"Down near the machines, there's a tunnel that leads up and out to the river bordering the community. The tunnel comes out past the fence around this place. The river is where the clean water here comes from. There are so many risks, but if we can manage to take that path, we'll get out."

Beth beamed.

"Perfect. But where do I meet you? Do you have a key to this door to come with me, or . . . ?"

"No. Jake or whoever it was that locked you in has it. I'll take the stairs down and wait for you near the machines. Mark will be in one of the rooms just before that, probably where the generators are. The vent should take you near there, but you'll have to get him out on your own. If they see I'm helping you and we don't manage to make it out, they'll punish me. Maybe even kill me. You understand, right?"

"Okay. But Sherry . . . Can you do one thing for me, at least?"

"What?"

"Bring that pickaxe they took from me. The one with the bright yellow handle."

"It's . . . a memento of someone, I'm guessing?"

Beth's chest tightened.

 _Death is a means of escape._

 _So why do people choose to live if that's the case?_

That was what Molly had asked her before their parting. She asked that and then she understood, because she chose to be brave in her final hours in the world and make her final act one that saved them. Then she'd given her that precious axe and told her to use it in her memory. So Hell be _damned_ if she was leaving without it.

 _You're the force that drives those people._

 _They need you._

She swallowed.

 _We all need each other._

"Yeah. Please?"

"Fine, I will. Just get down there as quickly as you can before someone comes and finds you're gone. Do you have any weapons in there to take out whoever might be holding Mark? Anything at all you can use?"

"They stripped me of almost everything, but I have a crossbow bolt hidden away in my boot."

"That's better than nothing. Use it if you have to, but don't do anything stupid. If you're seen, you'll have to _kill_ whoever's seen you. If you can sneak up on them and knock them out that way, that's fine, but if they get a look at who you are, it's the only way to guarantee your own safety. Do whatever you have to do."

"I understand."

"I'll get your pickaxe and meet you down in machinery, now go . . . And good luck."

Before Beth darted to the open grate, she called for Sherry again to tell her one final thing.

"Hold up three fingers when you see me so I know it's you."

"Okay. Until then."

The sound of her retreating footsteps made Beth get up and run to the grate, and she stared down into the darkness of the vent. A cold air blowing up from within, Beth breathed deeply and pulled out her hair tie to redo the strands which had fallen out, scooping it all back into a ponytail and grasping the chunky braid still hanging. Once finished, she passed one quick look over her shoulder at the door, then slid down into the small space, pulling the grate lid back over the hole as she did.

 _Do whatever you have to do._

.

.

 _—_ _Two months past Present—_

Beth and Rosita darted down the paths of the sewer system, taking continuous rights and lefts that felt like they were making no progress traveling forward at all. Rosita assured that they were going the right way, and that was all Beth had to keep her pushing on, the putrid odour of sewerage clogging her nostrils and making her eyes water.

"Carol and Michonne should be waiting in the armoury," Rosita said, "I know you said you wanted to find them on your own, but I agree with what Edwards was saying. I'm not letting you go in there alone."

"No! You have to go back and get as far away from here as you can with the others. I started this, and I never should'a brought anyone into it."

"Well like it or not, we're _here_ now, and you're not getting rid of us. Daryl would tear my hair from my head if he found out that I sent you in there on your own."

"If you die in there, he won't be _able_ to do that to you."

"I'm not leaving you, Beth. That's final. I'm not just doing this for Daryl, I'm doing it for me. For _you_. And for everyone who's trapped in there that could die any minute. You can order your group into doing what you think will protect them, but you can't order _me_."

Beth frowned.

". . . He killed Matty for standing by me. He killed my _friend_ , and he didn't feel a lick of hesitation or remorse whilst doin' it. He just kept swinging . . ."

"And now he wants to kill _you_ because of what you did to escape. He wants to kill _all_ of us, so you see it's not just you in this war. It's everyone. We all made an enemy out of him one way or another, and we _will_ fight to take him down until every one of us is lying face down in the dirt if that's the case. He'll die for what he did."

"How many more of us need to die before you realise this is more than just a war we're fightin'?"

Rosita was quiet, her footfalls loud and echoing in the space of the sewer system, before she eventually replied.

"As many as it takes for him to finally pay the price."

"That could end up being _everyone_."

"Even if it is, you're gonna be the last one standing, so finish him off for us."

Beth shuddered.

 _You're gonna be the last man standing._

 _You are._

Looking back now, she couldn't believe she'd said that to him. There might not have been anything _worse_ she could've said to him, because hearing it now, only directed at her instead . . . was probably the worst thing she thought she'd _ever_ heard.

"Come on," Rosita said, "We're almost there."

.

.

 _—_ _Present—_

The stench within the vents was putrid, and Beth found herself biting down on her tongue to avoid breathing any of the toxic air in as she scrambled along on her arms and knees.

It smelt of rot, and death, and decay. Gnawing down on her bottom lip, she grunted and dragged herself along the humid metal tunnel towards an opening. Rooms came into view every now and then as she was crawling, and most were empty apart from a couple of grates and shelves. She kept going in the sound of voices but stopped when a sound croaked loudly from behind her in the vent. Stilling, she held her breath and tried to turn and look over her shoulder, but the angle was awkward and nearly tied her up in a knot of limbs. She did manage to catch a glimpse eventually though, and she yelped upon seeing the source of the noise.

There was a _walker_ in the vent behind her, and it was snarling viciously as it made its way over to her, only there was something _different_ about this particular walker . . .

It had those sunken eyes, and rapidly snapping jaws. Its movements were also ridiculously fast for an ordinary walker, and the distorted screech it gave confirmed that this was one of the _mutated_. She gasped and crawled down the tube away frantically, but the mutated was just as fast as her. Reaching a corner, another shrill shriek burst from the other end of the vent, and _another_ horrible creature came dragging itself around the corner, leaving one in front of _and_ behind her.

The one in front was missing an arm and had a spear stuck through its chest, which kept bashing against the metal and sending loud _clang!_ s along the vent system. It stared at her with hungry bulging eyes and lurched forward, just as the one behind did.

The panel her hands were on weakened with her fierce wince and came loose, sending her tumbling down into the room below, only this time she knew there would be no Morgan to soften her fall like he had in Crawford.

She hit the floor with a painful _crunch!_ on her back and saw the two mutated walkers staring down at her from the opening in the ceiling, reaching for her with their swift hands and trying to get down.

Pulling the bolt out from her boot, voices sounded from the other side of the door to the room—assumedly drawn by the commotion—so Beth shoved the weapon into the cast on her wrist darted to the other side of the room to hide behind one of the crates.

Two Saviors opened the door and wandered in, jumping at the two creatures hanging down from the ceiling growling at them, but before they could pull out their guns and shoot them, another tile fell and they came crashing down into the room as well. The Saviors cried in distress when the mutated leaped up faster than they were expecting and sunk their jaws into their flesh. Blood spurted out from where their rotten fangs bit the flesh and they tore clumps of skin out as they feasted.

Beth took the opportunity while they were distracted eating to run past and slam the door shut behind her, trapping them in the room with the now minced meat Saviors. She shoved a barrel nearby in front of the door so it was covering it, and preventing the creatures from getting out, then ran down the corridor after the sound of thrumming machines and water.

A door was open just up the corridor where she assumed machinery was, and she could hear voices laughing and taunting.

Balling her fists, she took a step in that direction, before a hand closed around her arm and held her tight.

"Don't scream!" the voice hissed, cutting her off mid-shriek, and when she turned she saw that the hand belonged to Jake.

She stared at him with desperate eyes, trying to plead for him to let her go, and his expression faltered. He didn't let go of her arm though, and when someone was about to walk out of the open door to check the surroundings, he pulled her into a hidden space and clamped his other hand over her mouth to silence her.

The Savior down the hall looked in each direction before returning to the room he came from, and Beth breathed a sigh of relief when Jake removed his hand from her mouth.

"Thank y—" she said before he pressed his hand over her mouth again, cutting her off and pushing her harder against the wall.

His eyes were dark like graphite and his fingers dug into her cheeks harshly. She blinked with wide eyes, trying to convey her bewilderment, when he moved his thumb between her lips and slowly shoved it into her mouth.

 _Oh_.

"Don' make a sound," he breathed, voice quiet and raspy, sending revolting shivers down the back of her neck.

She thought about clamping her teeth down and biting his finger, but then she remembered Gorman.

Of _course_ , she remembered Gorman.

She'd never forgotten.

 _We gonna work something out?_

She nodded.

Jake grinned and pushed his face into her neck, and she let him because she was slowly trying to push the bolt up out of her cast without him noticing.

"You wanted this," he whispered, "I know ya did. S'what you were doin' with all yer teasin' and sweet acts."

She swallowed the vomit rising in her throat and edged the bolt further up out of her cast, ignoring the sensation of his teeth grazing her neck and trying to resist a horrified shudder.

"You wanted this, you wanted me to— _argh_!"

He gasped suddenly and sagged, and when he looked at her in his shock, her eyes were blazing with ice and revolt.

He looked down and saw that she'd thrust the long bolt she was holding up into his rib, piercing the skin and muscle whilst he was distracted with his attempt at unwanted seduction. She pushed the bolt deeper in and he cried out in pain, falling to his knees as she yanked it back out again and kicked him away. Sweat dripped down her brow and she rolled him out into the middle of the corridor, bashing against the wall with her boot to attract the Saviors in the room down the hall.

They heard that and his groans of pains and came wandering out, and Beth heard their sharp intakes of breath before they came jogging down to help him. When they did, Beth leaped out from the hiding place and stabbed the closest right through the throat, and he fell forward onto the ground, dead. The other two stared at her with alarm, and she could feel the blood splattered across her face all hot and sticky. Wasting no time, she jumped over the dead Savior and kicked one in the shins, disabling him while she stabbed the other in the eye and let her fall lifeless as well.

Jake moaned on the ground when she went for the other Savior, holding him by his throat and staring at him with a raging abhorrence before she speared him through the skull with her bolt and left him on the ground in a pool of his and his comrades' blood. She turned and glowered down at Jake, who was lying there clutching his bleeding side and cowering like a beaten animal.

She glared venomously for a moment before leaning down and hauling one of the bodies onto him, crushing him into the ground with its weight.

"You don't know _anything_ ," she spat, and then jogged down to the room with the open door and left him there.

She still held the blood-soaked bolt in her hand as she walked in, and gasped when she saw Mark tied against the wall with his shirt torn open, fresh gruesome cuts and lashes patterned out all across his front.

He opened his eyes slowly and blinked with disbelief at the sight of her, and she ran to him instantly. She thought he might've been whispering her name in his cracked tone, but it was unclear, so she just focused on putting the bolt back into her cast and untying his restraints. Once free, she discovered he couldn't walk on his own, so she threw his arm over her shoulders and staggered on out of the room with him. They moved down the corridor towards the sound of running water and electricity, and Beth felt some of the blood on her lips leak down onto her tongue, painting it with a metallic grisly flavour.

She kicked open a door at the end with her boot and they wandered into The Sanctuary's water filtration area and machinery. They staggered onward, Beth keeping her eyes out for Sherry, who'd said she would be here, when _another_ person came into the room the same way they came.

"Stop . . . the _fuck_ _._ _. ._ there."

She froze with horror at the voice and turned to find _Jake_ leaning against the door, panting heavily and drowned in blood. His side was pouring his own blood and he had a pistol gripped in his hand, which he lifted and pointed at her. His eyes held that desperate but dangerous look of a man who had nothing left to lose, and his finger hovered shakily over the trigger as he burst out laughing.

"I'll do it," he rasped, "I will . . . _Don't_ you fuckin' doubt that."

" _Beth_ ," Mark choked, and she cast him a forceful glance.

Staring head-on at Jake, she gently lowered Mark to the ground on his knees and took a few steps forward towards the wounded Savior.

He seemed surprised by her action, but that surprise was quickly taken over by weariness.

"Drop that weapon ya killed the others with . . ." he barked, " _Do_ it!"

Tugging the bolt free from her cast, she let it drop the ground for him to see, and he relaxed after it was done. He walked forward then, limping and holding his side with the hand that wasn't clutching the gun, and he stopped just in front of her. She stared back just as ferociously, the blood of his former comrades staining her lips and cheeks like warpaint, and he tightened his hold on the pistol.

"I thought you were different . . ." he admitted, hair falling down into his eyes and sticking to his forehead, "I did. I thought ya were smart. I thought . . . But ya ain't. You're just like all the rest, an' like they did . . . You're gonna die. _I'm_ gonna kill you."

"Then do it."

He didn't seem to understand her response to his insanity, for she stared at the barrel of the gun almost daringly, like she was willing it to try its luck with her.

 _I get it. I get it._

 _I do. Finally, I do._

"You can't kill me," she said with a shake of her head, and he quaked with rage and confusion.

"Why . . . the fuck _not_?"

 _You want to live_ , Andrea's voice suddenly emerged in her mind. _You made your choice. You changed your mind. That was you, and no one can take that away from you besides you. It's your decision, and you've made it_.

"You just can't," she said, no arrogance in her voice, just a painstaking truth, "No one can. No one besides me. I know that now. So go ahead if you think you can, by all means . . . Go ahead and _try_ it."

His eyes darkened, and he laughed like she was crazy.

She could hear Mark's panicked breaths behind her, but she stood her ground, her hands and cheeks still dripping with warm blood, and waited for him to stop laughing.

"All right," he said finally, "All right . . . I will!"

 _No one but you_.

He pulled the trigger.

 **.**

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

... Hi? Actually more like _bye!_ lmao.

(please don't hurt me)


	41. Morning star

**Author's Corner**

Here's the next one, sooner than usual as promised. Thanks as usual for the reviews!

I have a feeling a lot of you will enjoy this particular chapter... Start reading and see why I think that. ;)

 **Disclaimer:** TWD isn't mine.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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 **.**

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the underground room and over the flowing water and steady hum of machines, and Beth watched the horrified bewilderment flash through Jake's eyes as he stared at the bullet . . . Which was now stuck fast in the wall behind her.

He looked at it like it was a traitor. A worthless piece of metal that had been too afraid of the consequences if it hit her. Too swayed by _fear_ , to be able to hit the target.

Because it knew it hadn't been the first to try.

"Wha—" Jake stammered, coughing up a shot of blood when a voice in the room with them suddenly called out Beth's name.

Beth turned her head and saw a woman standing by one of the machines, one hand grasping Molly's pickaxe, and the other holding up _three fingers_.

She almost gasped in complete helpless joy at the sight, and the woman tossed the pickaxe thoroughly in her direction. Beth caught it and quickly turned back to Jake, who was still standing shocked, and lurched forward and pushed the axe all the way through his stomach. He spluttered at the assault and more blood dribbled down his chin, and she shoved the axe in deeper like she had with the bolt, and felt the blade tearing his insides apart.

She pulled it out roughly and shook some of the blood from it, and Jake fell to the ground on his knees, before he crumpled fully and ceased to breathe.

"Which was the act, huh?" she hissed, and squeezed the pickaxe handle.

". . . _Beth_. . . !"

She turned and found Mark leaning forward on the ground with Sherry trying to help him up. She ran over to help too and gave Sherry a grateful nod, who returned the gesture and pulled one of Mark's arms over her shoulders.

"The tunnel's that way," she said, gesturing to an opening across the room where the water was flowing from.

Beth got up and went towards it, feeling a fleeting gust of outdoor air blowing down from the surface and catching the strands of her hair. She placed a foot into the shallow water and felt the waves crashing against her boot, and the smell of water filled her nostrils and overpowered some of the blood and grime coating her skin.

Sherry came to her side with Mark and stared up the water tunnel.

"Come on," she said, "We have to go now. They change shifts a lot down here, so someone will notice Mark's gone pretty soon. You too. We have to leave _now_."

"Okay, but . . ."

"But what?"

Beth glanced at the machines and twisted her lips into a thoughtful frown, and Sherry sensed what she was thinking instantly.

" _No_ ," she argued, "There's no time, leave it. Let's just go."

"But if we can take out their drinking water and electricity, their defences will be down. They won't be ready for an attack."

"You're thinking of an _attack_? The only thing on our minds right now should be to get _out_. That's what you wanted! That was the plan!"

"Plans change. It'll only be fast, if we can just—"

"Now what the fuckity fuck is going on down _here_?"

Sherry completely froze and Beth's senses began to scream because of _that_ particular voice, down here, because why was _he_ here? Why . . . ?"

Negan stood in the doorway at the other end of the room with an abundance of men, that _bat_ swinging in his hold, and his grin ear-splitting.

He met Beth's gaze from across the room and creased his brows when he noticed Jake lying there dead on the ground. He saw the patch of blood staining his clothes over his abdomen, then saw the fresh blood dripping from Beth's pickaxe.

" _Well_ ," he practically snorted, "This certainly _is_ a fucking surprise. Who would've thought that a little girl like you could be so damn resourceful?"

Beth bit back a string of curses that would've made Daryl proud.

Negan was still smirking until he noticed Sherry standing behind Beth with the injured Mark, and his brows shot up in astonishment. "This just gets better and better!" he howled in delight, "You're here too! Today is _full_ of surprises, it seems."

He studied Mark.

"And you don't look so good either, pal. Maybe I should just put you out of your misery here like I did your brother."

" _Don't_ you talk about him," Mark groused, but Negan just laughed.

All he did was laugh.

Endless laughter. Everything was a joke. Everything . . .

"Stop _laughin'_!"

He stopped and stared at Beth like she'd just _flashed_ him, and put a hand on his hip.

He stared at her for a moment, and she never faltered under his burning gaze. He frowned temporarily and removed the hand from his hip.

"I'm starting to think I've been underestimating you, Bethany." he drawled, ". . . But I think that's what you want. You _want_ people to look at you and see nothing other than a blonde little girly who couldn't hurt a fly, and then when they're least expecting it, you shove that thought right up their fucking _ass_ like you did here with Jake."

Her eyes darkened but she still resisted the urge to tremble again at his twisted smile.

"I'm right, aren't I?" he said quietly.

She didn't reply. At least not with her voice.

He sneered.

"So what're you gonna do now? We're here. We fucking _caught_ you. Still gonna run? If you stay, we'll kill Mark, but if you go, he'll die anyway. You'll all die. Who'll help you? Who will, huh? We both know that the answer is no one."

She smiled then, despite the scenario, and shook her head.

"That's where you're wrong."

"How am I wrong?"

She didn't answer again, but her eyes flashed with a ghost of taunting, and she whispered for Sherry and Mark to go. They nodded reluctantly and made their way up the running stream, the Saviors behind Negan watching their leader with anticipation, but he didn't send any of them to go after the pair. He just kept his eyes locked on Beth's, seemingly trying to calculate the message gleaming away deep in her eyes, and she cocked her head like the bird she knew she was.

 _Kill him_ , the voice in the back of her head hissed like a snake, but she knew that voice was wrong.

 _Kill him._

She couldn't kill him. Not like this. There were too many variables that could go wrong . . .

So she listened to the other voice.

 _Water and electricity_.

She moved quickly and sliced the thick cable feeding into the main generator next to her, and watched as the wires from the inside shot out into the canal beside the machine.

Sparks grew with the collision and fizzled like fireworks, and the Saviors gasped in panic at the occurrence. The sparks bled into flames and the fire danced along the wires until it reached the machine, and the inferno curled around the metal and burst it open, sending tiny embers shooting out towards the other machines until the entire room was ablaze.

Beth caught Negan's eyes again through the flames, the heat licking at her bloody cheeks, and saw a cold rage sizzling in his menacing irises because of what she'd done. What she'd done so many times now—burning, burning everything—and knew she'd never stop doing.

She'd burn the world if it cleansed all of the impurities crawling around on the surface.

Negan's glare was almost lethal as he looked at her, and now that the fire was blazing wildly, she knew what she had to do now.

Daryl whispered in her ear.

 _Run_.

She quickly dashed up the water tunnel after Sherry and Mark, and the ground rumbled in the expectation of an _explosion_. They ran against the flowing water as fast as they could, and a wave of sparks and fire shot up from the machinery . . . as the underground of The Sanctuary went up in flames.

.

.

Edwards tripped along with almost everyone else in the RV because of a giant distant _blast_ that sent the vehicle shaking.

He fell face-down against a seat and almost smashed his glasses, the shakes of what felt like an earthquake gushing through the area, and eventually, the ordeal stopped. Daryl was the first up, regardless of his shoulder injury, and he staggered over to the door and clambered out. Edwards went following, falling occasionally because of the aftershocks that still ripped through the area, and he fell down the RV steps onto the ground. Effy rushed after him and helped him up, dusting off his back and shoulders, and he grunted in slight pain before reassuring her that he was fine.

"What was _that_?" Rosita asked shakingly, also coming out of the RV to stand with Daryl.

"It felt like an earthquake," Effy said, stretching the arm that she'd fallen on during the event and cracking the sore joints.

"Not so sure that's what it _was_ ," Daryl muttered, and Edwards followed his gaze to a cluster of thick black smoke beyond the trees.

The smoke was dark and stretching upward, and the air felt hot and sticky, almost like it had after the explosion on the coast when they'd escaped the small fishing town Dwight and Lilly had been holed up in.

"A mushroom cloud," Effy remarked, apparently thinking the same as him, "Do you think that someone might've . . . ?"

Daryl slung his crossbow over his uninjured shoulder—which Edwards didn't even know why he bothered to do because he still wouldn't be able to use it—and began walking in the direction of the smoke. "S'go find out," he mumbled.

"Is that a good idea?" Rosita asked skeptically, and he shot her a look laced with venom.

"What's it _matter_?" he spat, "Beth's out there somewhere. We gotta find her. An' if none of you wanna come, _fine_ , I'll go alone."

"We know that," Edwards muttered, "But there are Saviors out there too. We're in a bad shape as it is, can we really afford to go out looking for danger?"

"Don't you try and fuckin' stop me, ok? Nothin' ya say is gonna change my mind."

Edwards sighed.

"I know."

So when Daryl began to make his way out into the trees, Edwards gave Effy a distinctive look and then jogged after him. Daryl shot him an aggressive questioning look, but Edwards just held up the long blade Beth had given him, and Daryl understood that the last thing he was trying to do was _stop_ him.

"I'm coming with you," he said, and Daryl looked like he wanted to sigh too.

He didn't try to stop him though, and carried on walking. Edwards glanced back over his shoulder and gave Effy and Rosita nods, letting them know he'd be okay (he hoped), before continuing on after the archer.

If Beth was out there, they'd find her. He didn't doubt that in the slightest.

.

.

Beth helped Mark up out of the tunnel with Sherry and stopped when they reached the surface. The blaze from below was snaking up, quelled by the running water but still clawing its way up like a tiger, and they stopped on a rock by the river in the forest.

Leaving Sherry sitting with Mark, Beth ventured to the river and caught some water in the strip of cloth she'd torn from her plaid shirt, then walked back to press the dripping fabric to his lips for him to drink. He panted heavily in-between gulps, and Sherry went to the river as well to dampen a cloth. She used it to wipe some of the blood from his chest, and his eyelids drooped closed with fatigue and he slumped against the rock.

". . . He . . . He killed him," he wheezed.

Beth winced.

"Matty . . . He . . . He didn't do anything . . . But the damn prick just took that baseball bat and . . . He's _dead_. He _killed_ him! He's—!"

"He got what he deserved," Beth said harshly, wiping his sweaty brow, "Negan paid for what he did to him. I made sure of it."

"Do you think he's really dead?" Sherry asked, voice eerily timid, "For _real_? Is it over?"

Beth remembered the fury in his eyes as she looked at him through the flames, but thought how impossible it would be if he _had_ survived. She'd set the room on fire. There'd been an _explosion_. And if that hadn't been enough, there were mutated in the room barricaded with the crate, which certainly could've gotten out and finished the job. That was if the explosion itself hadn't been enough, which she thought probably was.

People were hard to kill in this world though.

She'd learned that first-hand.

"Maybe now things will start to take a turn for the better," she said instead, and Sherry nodded in agreement.

Mark heaved a shaky breath and squeezed his temples, apparently trying to blink more tears away, and Beth stroked his shoulder.

"You're okay," she said softly, "We're okay. We made it out. Matty would'a wanted that. He wouldn't have wanted you to die in there too. I know he wouldn't . . . When the prison was burning, and everybody was running, my sister wanted me to escape even if she couldn't. She left me with an important job and went back to look for her husband, and that's the last time I ever saw her. I don't know where she was when the others came to rescue me at the hospital, but I know that no matter what happens . . . She'd want me to always keep trying. Keep living. Just like I'd want _her_ to."

Words from Maggie's letter came to her then, and she fought back tears.

 _I hope you can forgive me. And maybe if we're lucky, we'll meet again someday._

 _Maybe we all will._

She'd meant it in a different way, but it didn't really matter. They would meet again. Somehow. Beth swore they would. And when they did, Beth would hand her back that tattered envelope and say . . . _Thank you. Thank you for everything you did. Everything you wrote in that letter._

 _I'm stronger now, and it's because of what you wrote that I am._

"Matty loved you, Mark," she breathed, voice breaking slightly at the last word, "And he wanted you to live. He believed in you. So do him proud."

 _I believe in you, Bethy._

He flashed her an appreciative look and rested his head against her brow, and she stroked his shoulder again tenderly. She remembered the panic in her mind when Maggie forced the rifle into her hands and told her to get everyone on the bus. She might have babied and underestimated her just like everyone else, but she'd trusted her with a job. An important job that only she could do. And she'd let her do it.

Maggie had seen the hidden strength in her all along. She'd seen it first, and she hadn't even realised. She saw so much, but she was still so blind.

 _I won't go without you._

She smiled against Mark's cheek.

"We should go," Sherry said after a while, done wiping Mark's chest. "I know that explosion seemed pretty final, but there could still be some survivors wandering the perimeter, and I don't really want to run into any."

Beth nodded.

"You're right. Let's go."

They helped Mark to his feet again and staggered on, taking the path upstream and traveling away from the black smoke in the sky rising from The Sanctuary.

Beth stared at the dark rising clouds behind them and thought of Tanaka's comment in the church. Arson. Burning. Ashes. A girl of smoke . . . _And_ fire.

She smiled.

 _If that's what it takes_.

They traveled along the river for a while, making short stops to allow Mark to rest, before continuing on. It wasn't really clear where they were going, but anywhere away from the burning Sanctuary was preferred. Beth could still feel the scorching of the dried blood on her cheeks, but she never used the river water to wash it off. She felt that doing that would be to ignore what she'd done, and who she'd done it to.

She'd told Dawn she could never just kill someone, but look what she'd done.

"I didn't expect you to do it," Sherry said all of a sudden, and at first, Beth didn't know what she was talking about.

"Get us out, I mean," she clarified, "I didn't expect you to actually do it. There was a part of me that wanted to believe, but mostly . . . I just thought it would turn out like it always does."

"But you came," Beth pointed out, "You came to where you told me to meet you and you brought what I asked for. You wouldn't have done that if you didn't believe we had even the slightest bit of a chance."

"I did . . ."

"Why did you come? If you didn't fully believe we could do it. What made you?"

Sherry looked at the sky beyond, and the lines of gradually turning orange-pink clouds. Beth thought she might not answer, and focused on keeping Mark upright until she finally opened her mouth and replied.

"There was something in your singing,"

 _I sing_.

"There was something that made me think."

 _I still sing._

"It was sad, and lonely, and sort of angry, but it was _beautiful_. Pretty things like that don't make it anymore, and hearing that in a _place_ like that . . . It just made me think. It made me think I might still have a _chance_. So I acted on it and I helped you, knowing it might cost me my life, because I thought we had a chance . . . And we did. We made it. We took that chance."

"People give up too easily in this world," Beth whispered, "They're not willing to believe in chances anymore. But I do. Somehow. I still believe."

"So what do you propose we do?"

Beth tapped her brain for ideas.

"We had an RV before we were captured," she said, "They drove away before Daryl and Rosita could be captured too, so considering they're still out there . . ."

"Was Dwight in there?" Sherry asked, almost hopefully.

"No. He and a few were still out in the woods at that time. They could've regrouped with the truck by now, but I'm not completely sure. Sorry."

Sherry nodded—disappointedly—and bit the inside of her cheek.

"That could work out better though," Mark commented, surprising them with speech, "If there are two sets of groups running around out here, the odds of runnin' into at least _one_ of them is higher."

He was right.

"So that's the plan?" Sherry asked, "Just keep wandering until we run into somebody? These woods are gigantic. We could be searching for days. What are we going to do about his injuries? And food?"

"We'll stop when it gets dark and rest. I'll look around and see if there are any herbs we can use to treat the wounds. The bleeding's stopped but we wanna avoid an infection. If we can find anything to help, we can use the water from the river as well."

"And how do we get food?"

"I know how to set traps, but we'd need to scavenge stuff to make them with first."

"Traps? You mean like hunting snares? Where did you learn to make _those_? Did you take a crash course in wilderness survival or something?"

Beth shook her head, almost smiling.

"No . . . It was after the turn that I learned. I had a good teacher."

Sherry caught her distant smile and furrowed her brows, but didn't comment.

They walked a little further along the river before a _sound_ emitted from the other side of the water, and the trio stopped instantly. Beth left Sherry holding onto Mark and held out her axe, walking closer towards the water's edge slowly, and listening for another noise. It could've been anything, like a deer or a coyote, but the unnerving silence that followed the sound was almost too intelligent to be the behaviour of an animal. It was something with a very precise consciousness, who was no stranger to hunting, and was _hiding_ , in the trees beyond the river.

Holding her breath, Beth tightened her grip on the axe and swallowed.

A walker stumbled out from the treeline, and she almost groaned in disappointment at the reveal. Watching it hobble around pathetically, this one just an ordinary member of the undead with no enhanced mutated abilities, she lowered her pickaxe and let the cool pre-twilight wind blow over her clammy neck.

Abruptly, the action so rapid and unexpected it almost made Beth drop her weapon in surprise, a figure leaped out from the bushes and skewered the walker through the head with a knife, and let it fall to the ground in a lifeless crumple. The thing snarled at the sight of the figure before it met its demise, and the figure stood in the shadows towering over the fallen carcass.

Beth kept her eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the stranger across the river, and she felt Sherry and Mark holding their breaths behind her to avoid drawing attention to them. She wasn't sure why, but her heart was pounding senselessly, and it was pumping blood so powerfully through her veins that she was sure the figure would be able to hear it. The stranger did turn their attention over to them eventually, but it was only because the three of them were basked in the light of a setting sun, instead of darkness cast by the forest.

Beth stared hypnotically, pastel auburn light catching the strands of her hair and making them dazzle a fine gold, and the light hit her bloody cheeks and illuminated her features.

There was a gasp, but it didn't come from Beth or her companions on that side of the river.

It came from the other side, specifically where the stranger was stood.

Streams of light in the area malformed then, and the cloud that had been casting the shadow over the space where the figure stood parted, spilling warm evening light over their features. And by God . . . was Beth the one to gasp now.

"Daryl?" a familiar voice from behind the trees across the river called despairingly, "Where did you go? I can't keep up with . . ."

The voice trailed off as another figure emerged from the shrubbery, and Beth recognised him instantly as Edwards, wandering across the vines and long grass with messy steps, his hair wild and spotted with twigs. He stopped and stared at her, eyes wide from behind his cracked and clouded glasses, before breaking out into an enormous smile.

But her eyes soon returned to the first figure she'd seen on the other side when the light came through.

 _He_ stared at her, hair dark and hanging in his face in shaggy grime-laced clumps, and his bare arms were tattooed with the usual dirt and sweat that permanently stained his skin. His clothes were as black as she remembered—all of him was black, he reminded her of a nighttime predator—and his _eyes_. . . She couldn't see them from where she was stood, but she knew they were vociferous and icy, peeking out from beneath his murky bangs like slits. The leather of his vest was worn and coated with dirt, and he had that crossbow he'd let _her_ hold on more than one occasion, draped across his shoulder like it always was.

He hadn't changed, she thought, stifling a sudden sob that threatened to tear through her throat. He hadn't changed at all, and _all_ she'd done was change. He was always so big and dark and strong, like a panther, and all she'd ever been was a little bird sitting in the tree away from his paws.

She wondered if he even recognised her anymore, with her firmer limbs and mutilated face, all covered with blood. Blood that wasn't even her own.

She'd wanted to change, she'd told _him_ that, but now she wondered what he thought when he saw her. He had no way of knowing what _she_ thought when she saw _him_.

He dropped his crossbow.

That was what brought her out of the haze that fell over her, and she blinked the building tears away violently.

 _I killed people_ , she wanted to scream from where she stood. _I don't even know how many but I killed them, and I killed them so I could be right here where I am now. I did it so I could make it to you, and you do it all the time like it's the easiest thing, but it's horrible. It's so, so horrible, and all I want to do when I close my eyes and cry. I told you I wanted to be like you because you're made for this, but I don't think I am. I don't think I'm built for this. I'm not_ _. . ._ _I'm not anything like_ _. . ._

He shattered those thoughts into a million tiny little stars when he abandoned his bow on the ground by the trees and went running towards the river, uncaring that it was even there, and bounded into the water.

 _But in the midst of all that_ _. . ._ _Despite all the horrible things I've done_ _. . ._ _Despite what I've become because of them_ _. . ._

 _All I wanted was to see you again_.

She left the pickaxe on the side of the river and hopped down into the shallow waters, the river coming just above the tops her boots and utterly soaking her feet, but she didn't care.

The river wasn't as deep as she'd expected, a shallow sort of pathway snaking all the way into the middle part, and she ran so fast through the liquid that she almost tripped time and time again, but she didn't stop.

Neither did he.

His features were easier to pick out as he came closer, and a helpless grin plastered itself onto her mouth at those blazing glacial eyes that shone forcefully no matter what the setting he was in.

She could see him fully now, and she noticed that his bottom lip was quivering as he ran, but she didn't have time to properly study it because before long he was _crashing_ into her, like a wave himself, and he flung his arms around her waist and crushed her to him. She stood in his arms at the heart of the river, feeling him squeezing her tight and pressing his face as deep into her shoulder as it would go, and that smell of earth and old leather flooded her senses as she curled her arms around his shoulders and held him back just as tightly as he was.

Suddenly she was crying, but it didn't matter because it looked like he was too, with his violent shakes and hitches of breath against her neck, but they weren't tears of sadness at all.

She was smiling. She was smiling so much the muscles in her cheeks began to hurt, and the happy tears leaked down her cheeks mixing with the blood and sweat but she honestly didn't care in the slightest. She balled the leather on his back and squeezed, shoving a hand up to hold the back of his neck, and she held him there, not really knowing what she was doing, but feeling like she had to keep him there because if she didn't he would die. Like for some reason he needed to drink her blood because it was the only thing that would keep him alive. Like he needed to crawl inside her because the air was toxic, and the only place that was safe was inside her.

Everything was poisoned by a nasty toxicity now, but not him. Despite his contrasting looks and aggressive tendencies . . . He was the purest thing she'd ever _found_ on this toxin-soaked, burning world.

He was the _yang_ amongst all the _yin_ , dressed in black and cloaked in smoke, just for the irony.

He kept whispering her name. Breathing it against her skin like a chant, and it only widened her smile when she pulled his head up and looked at him. He _was_ crying, and she felt her mouth trembling as she reached up and scooped a handful of hair out of his face, but kept her hand there locked in his oily strands.

"I never . . ." he choked, tears flowing freely, ". . . thought I'd see you again."

Ignoring her own tears, she pulled the clump of hair she was holding and laughed.

She _laughed_ , and he breathed out a whimper.

" _Ever_?" she asked, voice miniature but laced with a fairytale vertigo.

He shook his head, and she wanted to laugh even more, but swallowed them and just pulled him back down into another crushing hug. He was different from when she'd seen him being hauled back to the RV, unconscious and having lost a considerable amount of blood. Back then, he was almost dead. But now, he was alive. He was so _alive_ , and strong.

And _real_.

This was real. Finally, at long last. He was real. She was real. The world was real. Up until now, it had all felt like a dream. Some sick and labyrinth underworld she couldn't find her way out of. But now. Now it was all . . . It was all . . .

She wailed against his bandaged shoulder.

 _This was all I wanted_ , she thought as he rocked her in his arms and sobbed. _Just this, since the beginning. You and me, alone in our own world_. _My partner. My friend. The man who taught me to be strong no matter what. The fist to my fist. The willpower to my willpower_ _. . ._ _The closest person to me._

 _This was all I_ ever _wanted_.

And sometimes people got what they wanted. If they only tried just enough.

 _Maybe we'll all see each other again someday. Maybe we will, Maggie, because you were right. You were totally right. Goodnight is so much different than goodbye. It's soft. Quiet. Gentle. It says there's still a chance, and you believed that._

 _You were right._

 _Morning can still come._

 **.**

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	42. Fluctuate

**Author's Corner**

Thank you so much for all the comments on the last chapter, I was really glad to hear what you all thought about it. A lot of what people said really touched me, and it means the world that I've been able to affect people like that with what I write, so thank you so much for putting up with the constant suffering I put you guys through. ❤️ ❤️ (It was nice to have something actually _good_ finally happen, eh?)

As for this chapter, this one is really important in regards to the story and where we're going next. The part before this was Beth's journey across the miles of distance between her and her family, as well as through emotional and metal turmoil. Now that she's found Daryl (and soon to find the rest of the posse), things are going to have a very strong change.

Without saying too much, there will be visibly less _angst_ than usual and more focus on the relationships between Beth and the other characters, as opposed to what we've been seeing from the start — the relationship between Beth and _herself_. That's also important and not disappearing, but more emphasis will definitely be put on her interactions with and feelings for _others_ , and I hope you all enjoy what's coming. Another thing I wanted to mention is that someone commented on how Beth's behaviour has been somewhat blurred and indecisive, with her over-confidence, vast mood swings, and sudden cowering in the face of Negan (relatable). I can't say too much on this, because this is a _MAJOR_ part of the future of this fic, and I'm glad someone noticed.

There are reasons for Beth's behaviour and actions there, but that topic will be explored later. The title of this chapter ( ** _Fluctuate_** ) also relates to that, so I'll leave it up to you to think about what could be happening. ;)

So without further ado, keep reading and please enjoy the next chapter! I'm dedicating this one to my good friend Avery ( **worthallyourgalleons** on tumblr), because she's been having a stressful time recently and I love her a lot. ❤️

 **Disclaimer:** I think if I actually did own or work for TWD, I'd be fired instantly for all the all-consuming angst I'd refuse to stop writing.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Beth wasn't completely sure how long she and Daryl had been standing embracing each other in the stream, but the sun had almost completely set by now and her soggy feet were starting to feel more than a bit uncomfortable. She broke away from his bone-crushing hold and felt her smile _dazzling_ —something that hadn't happened in a _long_ time—and gestured Mark and Sherry to cross with them onto Edwards's side.

They all helped the wounded man across the knee-length water and prevented each near fall he had. Once on the other side, Edwards flashed her another huge smile and she pulled him into a hug. She felt him shaking in her grasp and it made her hold him tighter.

 _I'm sorry_ , she wanted to say. _You must've been so worried_.

After they'd broken apart, he squeezed her shoulder then studied Mark's cut up abdomen with his eyes. "What happened?"

"The Saviors tortured him to try to and get him to talk."

"What about Lilly? And the others that were taken with you? Where are they?"

She grimaced slightly. "I'll . . . tell you about them later. How many are with you now?"

"Still everyone in the RV. Dwight and the others never came back though, I have no idea where they are now."

She nodded, casting a subtle glance over at Sherry.

"Right. I was hoping you'd have crossed paths by now, but I guess not."

Feeling Daryl's eyes on her, she shifted her gaze and blinked at the daunted intensity in his steel dark irises. Though they had other things to worry about at the moment, she felt oddly bound to keep staring into them, and he didn't seem to have any intention to stop either.

She felt strange. Different to how she thought she'd feel when she saw him again. Whenever she'd imagined their eventual meetings before, it had been all emotion and _don't ever leave me again'_ s. Dramatic, like the two of them, but then she thought that that kind of reunification wasn't really them at _all_. They were partners. A duo. Friends. They'd faced the world together in a winding net of forest, and for a while, it had felt like they were the only two people left in the world. For a while, they _had_ been, at least to her. But regardless of it, he'd always been the source of her strength.

No. Not the source.

The inspiration behind it.

He'd not done the typical opening her eyes so she realised she could be strong too, oh no . . . He'd made her see that she could open her eyes _herself_ , and that even if she herself hadn't known, she'd been strong all along.

He made the fighter under the surface come out to dance.

"What'd'we do now?" he asked, voice low and like gravel, just as she remembered.

She smiled wider.

He was still that inspirer of strength, even all this time later.

"We go back to the RV," she decided, "Lilly, Aaron, and Abraham weren't at The Sanctuary. One of the men there told us they'd escaped. And neither was Dwight or any of the others with him. Which means they're all probably still out there somewhere. So I say if we go back and regroup with everyone else, we're bound to find 'em sooner or later."

Edwards nodded in agreement at the proposal, and Daryl's lips had curved into what looked like a smirk. Her expression mirrored his, and Mark and Sherry also nodded in agreement. Sherry supported Mark against her shoulder, and Edwards went to help too, leaving Beth and Daryl to lead the way. Accepting a knife from Edwards, Beth walked onwards into the trees, and she felt the others following behind over the crunching leaves. She could still taste the coppery tang of blood on her tongue, and she bit her bruised lip to try and distract herself from the horrific flavour. She gripped the handle of the knife and listened to the sound of her boots munching the dry fallen leaves below, and Daryl strode faster so he was walking beside her. He passed several quick glances down at her and seemed to be regarding her with an odd sense of intrigue.

 _Of course_ , she thought suddenly. _I must look_ _. . ._ _different._

 _So muc_ _h_ _different_.

The scars on her face and concealed hole in her head were the more obvious changes in her demeanour, but they weren't the only changes. She'd not had the chance to properly examine herself, but she'd caught small glances upon studying herself in reflective surfaces every now and then. Her face was thinner, obviously from the lack of food and nourishment, but that wasn't all. Her limbs had morphed too. Changed from the body of a girl which she was so used to. Her arms were sturdier, lined with chiselled muscle and dirt, and her legs, they were stronger too. Longer and leaner from all the running she'd done. Still bony and narrow, but they no longer looked frail or delicate. She used to have fawn legs, but now . . . She was a grown deer, leaping over logs and rapidly bounding across the forest turf away from predators who might give chase.

 _I wish I could just change. I wish. I wish_.

 _You did_.

But back then it wasn't enough. Not enough to keep her alive. But now, maybe it _was_ enough. Maybe finally, it was now all enough. She wasn't like Michonne or Carol or Maggie. Not even now. But now she had what they had to be able to survive too.

"Daryl?" she asked, taken aback at the sound of _that_ name on her tongue once again, and he seemed embarrassed to have been caught staring at her.

"Yeah?" he muttered grittily.

Her lips remained sealed shut. She wasn't sure what she'd wanted to say, but maybe she'd only wanted an excuse to say his name. To his _face_. Again, finally.

". . . _Daryl_."

He didn't speak then, just tilted his head slightly, and she bit the inside of her cheek.

What did she want to say? She wasn't sure. But whatever it was, she was sure it all boiled down to in the end . . .

 _Thank you_.

"For what?"

 _Oh_.

So she'd said it out loud.

What for?

"I . . ."

She struggled for words.

"I just . . ."

 _You kept me alive._

 _All this time, since the day my daddy's neck was sliced with a blade, when all I wanted to do was cry_ _. . ._ _You kept me alive. You helped me, sheltered me, protected me. Taught me I could fight the monsters on my own. You showed me what you had to do to be able to survive in this world. Even when you weren't there, I remembered what you'd taught me, and I carried on. Because that's what we do now. We walk like soldiers. We fight, and fight, and never give up._

 _We carry on._

 _You didn't save me from that car with the cross on the back. You didn't even save me from the hospital. But you showed me what I needed to do to be able to save myself. You, Andrea, Lori_ _. . ._ _You were all trying to get me to see that in order to survive in this world, I had to take my life into my own hands, and take full hold of the situation. Because this is my life, mine and mine alone, and only I can take that away from me. Only me._

 _I get it now. I really do._

 _So thank you._

Instead, she settled for a smile and shook her head.

"It doesn't matter. Just . . . Thank you."

Maybe one day she'd tell him what just passed through her thoughts.

He looked like he had a lot he wanted to say to that, but in that completely Daryl-like fashion, he closed his mouth and kept it to himself. There was a time she'd been able to read those stoic expressions of his. Once upon a time when two children lived in the woods and survived on snakes, squirrels and pigs feet. But that story had ended, and the book had closed to never be opened again.

But . . . it _had_ been opened again. The bullet _hadn't_ torn through her skull and killed her on that awful final page. She hadn't _died_! They might have reached the end of that book, but what was this? This was a new story, and she was a new Beth. He was a new Daryl. And there was so much she had to do to be able to rekindle the bond they'd developed. The first story had been about death and devastation, so what was this one about? What was the theme _this_ time?

Daddy believed there was a plan.

He'd said that all along but she'd never really believed him. Maggie hadn't either. Rick sure as hell hadn't. But looking back now, Beth wondered _why_ he'd thought that. What gave him the impression there was a meaning to all of this? What made him wonder if it wasn't in fact the end of a world . . . but the beginning of a new one?

What had he seen?

She might not ever know, but this time, for the first time . . . She wanted to.

.

.

After walking for so long, the sun had fully set and twilight gleamed miraculously like the sky was lined with silver and gems. Beth had fallen behind slightly and allowed Daryl and Edwards to lead the way, casting her gaze upward to the twinkling milky way above. She felt light, giddy, exhilarated. Thoughts empty of what had just conspired at The Sanctuary. It was an odd feeling considered all that had happened, but it was nice.

 _Looks like it didn't kill you to have a little faith after all._

Eventually, they came to an open stretch of road and the RV was fully in view. It shone in the starlight with a luminous pale sheen, and Beth's heart leaped a little at the sight of it. Edwards blew a sharp whistle with his lips and the door to the vehicle opened.

Effy peered her head around it and her lips parted with surprised joy at the sight of them all. She darted down the steps quickly and rushed over to them, warm green eyes sparkling with enthusiasm like the stars overhead. Her eyes met Beth's and she smiled wider, cheeks flushed with relief, and she bounded over and threw her arms around her. Beth's grin broke out then, the same giddiness flowing out of her, and she squeezed Effy and felt her giggling restlessly against her head.

Daryl seemed staggered at the girl's extreme reaction, and Beth directed her smile at him from over Effy's laughter-quaking shoulder.

He blinked and tightened his jaw, and she started to laugh as well. She pulled back slightly and turned her attention back to Effy, who stared at the cuts and blood splatters across her nose and cheeks with wide eyes.

"What happened?" she asked with a quiet gasp, "Are you hurt? What—"

Beth shook her head.

"It's not mine," she said, "I . . . I just, those people . . ."

She felt her eyes welling up with tears again unexpectedly, and Effy looked even more alarmed as Beth lifted her hands to cover her mouth with horror. Effy's hands were tight on her shoulders and she stifled a sob, feeling herself shake beneath those pressing palms.

The light-hearted feeling of giddiness was suddenly gone, replaced with the reminder of what she'd done at The Sanctuary, and all the blood on her face and neck felt as if it was burning like hot acid. Sizzling into her flesh and cracking it apart like barren desert land. She'd been so happy just a couple of minutes ago, so overcome with joy at seeing _him_ again, that she'd almost _forgotten_ what she'd _done_.

She felt as if her heart was malfunctioning. Her heart and her head. Like she'd been put back together on that hospital tray by Edwards like Frankenstein's monster, only he'd missed the fault that made her wildly fluctuate.

 _What have I done?_

"I _killed_ them," she gasped, startling everyone with the desperation in her voice, "Those people in there, the ones that attacked me, the ones that were gonna hurt Mark . . . Everyone in the building! They're dead! They're _dead_! I killed them _all_!"

"Beth," Edwards breathed quietly, his voice twisted in pain, and Beth felt her blood-painted lips quivering madly. Daryl looked immensely alarmed too, as did the others, but it only made her brain feel like it was malfunctioning even more.

She didn't stop her frantic words.

"I slit their throats and watched as they died! And Jake . . . He wanted . . . So I stabbed him in the stomach . . . ! Then I _burned_ them all in an explosion! I burned—"

Effy pulled her into an embrace again and held her tightly, cradling the back of her head where the bullet had torn through.

The moment with Daryl came to mind then, when he'd fallen apart and screamed of his failure to save them and the prison, and she'd lunged forward and thrown her arms around him from behind. She hadn't felt true pain radiating from another before then, but she'd practically _felt_ the agony burning inside Daryl then, as she held him tight with her face pressed against his shoulder blades. He'd been hurting, he'd been hurting so bad. They'd all been hurting. _She'd_ been hurting . . .

She'd never _stopped_ hurting.

Whimpering loudly, fresh tears rolled down Beth's cheeks and mixed with the blood and old tears. She remembered the false kindness in Jake's eyes when he'd tried to win her trust, then the lust, and the _shock_ when she shoved the pickaxe through his stomach and stopped his advances abruptly. She remembered seeing the light fade from his eyes as he fell too, and she moaned into Effy's shoulder, shivering wildly. He wasn't the first person she'd killed, far from it, but it was the first time she'd been able to see the effect of what she'd done close-up, and she felt _polluted_.

Then the explosion. They all burned in there. They burned to _death_ , in a baptism of judgement, karma, and fire.

 _But they were bad people,_ one part of her mind cried _. They weren't good people they were bad. They weren't_ _. . ._

 _We're taking the prison._

 _. . ._ _It wasn't the same._

Effy stroked her head and rubbed her other hand up and down her back. Beth cried and held her dark brown strands of hair tightly, shaking wildly and letting her disturbed sobs penetrate the otherwise quiet night air.

It had been a long time since she'd cried, but seeing Daryl again seemed to have opened the flood banks and sent all the water gushing downstream. She couldn't stop. She didn't know how. And the more she cried, the angrier she became. Cold rage took root deep in her bones, a rage like nothing she'd ever felt, and her sobs started to sound like screams of fury. Sorrow mixed with rage and absolute sheer _disgust_ , and she didn't even notice Effy and the others leading her up the steps to the RV and into the bedroom compartment.

 _They weren't good people._

 _What have you done?_

 _They weren't good people._

 _What have you DONE?_

Once seated on the camp bed in the bedroom compartment, Beth scrubbed at her face with her hands and tried to wipe away all the blood and tears. Her shoulders still shook aggressively, the two voices arguing deafeningly in her mind, and she heard Effy sending the others away quietly.

She was alone in the room, sobbing quietly and scrubbing at her eyes to try and haul the water out of them. She scrubbed and scrubbed until there was nothing left to scrub, and suddenly a sharp pain in her left cheek became apparent, and she gasped loudly and rose a hand to the space that was burning. It hurt more when she touched it, and she scrambled around in the drawers of the bedside table for something to see herself with. Withdrawing a small mirror from the middle drawer—unfortunate memories arising that involved broken mirror pieces and blood on her wrist—Beth lifted it and studied her face.

She breathed out shakily in despair.

There was a fresh gash on the left side of her face, below the cheek that already adorned a healed over scar. It was huge and messy, sliced from the left corner of her mouth up to where her ear joined, like a permanent sideways smile. Blood poured from it down her face and neck, and she shivered violently upon staring at it.

Effy returned then and sat beside her on the bed.

She didn't say anything. Just sat there quietly, watching her stare at her face until she eventually lifted the cloth and water in her lap and gave Beth a questioning look. Beth turned away from the mirror and nodded, mouth trembling, and Effy lifted the cloth up to wipe some of the blood from the wound, frowning with concentration as the flaps of torn skin wouldn't seem to piece together, and thus continued bleeding. Beth was still crying silently, the salt from her tears bleeding into the flowing red, and Effy's eyes flashed with anxiety. Beth's heart sank even lower as she remembered the image of the awful injury, and she closed her eyes in dismay at the thought of the horrific scar it would leave.

She was covered in scars from head-to-toe now.

It was a wonder anyone even recognised her with all the horrendous demons that were crawling across her face.

"It'll need stitches," Effy said gently, "Do you think you can handle Edwards coming in and fixing it up for you?"

Throat sore and throbbing, Beth nodded slowly, and Effy got up to fetch the doctor.

"I'll get Daryl too," she added quietly, and Beth felt a pang of indignity at the thought of him having to look at her ruined face again.

Edwards and Daryl came in quietly and let Effy close the door behind them. Daryl remained standing by the door with his arms folded, whereas Edwards went and sat beside Beth on the bed to examine the bleeding gash carefully. His glasses were cracked and battered, Beth noticed at close range, and his hair was messy and unkempt. He was also starting to sprout tiny wiry hairs along his chin and jawline.

"It looks worse than it is," he said, "But it does need stitches."

Feeling Daryl's gaze on her strong and firming, she nodded and produced a melancholy smile.

"It's not like I'm a stranger to scars," she whispered croakily, and Edwards smiled too.

He glanced at Effy and she handed him the bowl of warm water, and he resumed her wiping around the wound. It hurt, but Beth had come to find the non-physical pain _much_ worse than the physical.

Effy had her palm resting on Beth's thigh, and Daryl's eyes were warm and steady as he looked at her from where he stood. Both things were reassuring, so she swallowed her tears and tried to blink them away, pushing away thoughts of what she'd done at The Sanctuary for the moment.

 _Like you could ever forget something like that_ , the cynical Beth spat.

"You must've opened it up when you started crying," Edwards remarked, threading the ebony string through the tiny sterilised needle he was holding between his fingers. "It was sealed up when we first saw you. Must have been all the dry blood clogging it up."

"I didn't even feel it until now," she murmured.

"It'll be fine once it's stitched though," Effy commented with a tiny smile.

Beth couldn't smile back with Edwards working on the giant gash, but she responded with gratitude shining in her eyes.

Daryl's silence was something she'd grown used to during the time she'd spent alone with him, but right now all she wanted was to hear his voice as well. Quiet and reassuring. But he stayed silent, staring at her with folded arms and a troubled expression staining his features. She locked eyes with him as Edwards poured an amount of alcohol onto the cloth in his hand, and saw his brows lower slightly in a grief-stricken manner. She wondered why he was looking at her like that, with a sense of both guilt _and_ wonder, but she tried not to dwell on it too intensely, given what Edwards was about to do to her.

The doctor looked at her anxiously, warning her of the oncoming pain, and she nodded in understanding. She waited for him to press the cloth against her flesh, and when he did, it _burned_.

A stinging rawness crawled up her face like a creature and she groaned, biting her teeth together harshly. Since this gash was bigger than the two she'd gotten at Grady, he used more alcohol, and thus would also need to use more stitches. She balled her fists tightly and felt Effy's hand tighten over her thigh, but she maintained herself as Edwards lifted the needle up to her face and pushed the sharp tip into her flesh. The process was long and agonising, and she could taste the tangy flavour of her own blood flowing into her mouth as he worked, but she tried to ignore it and squeezed her eyes shut.

Sometime during this, another presence took a seat at the other side of her on the bed, and she felt a large warm hand plant on her other thigh. One eyelid peeked open and she saw Daryl staring at her still, only this time he was seated on the bed at her side. His palm was tight over her thigh, but not uncomfortable, and the pressure was reassuring. It made her think back to the exchange, after Rick had kissed her brow and she'd walked over to the rest of the group, Daryl's hand planting itself firmly on her shoulder as she passed.

Her eyes glittered with a flare of affinity, and he gave a slight nod.

Edwards threaded the folds of torn skin back together with the needle and eventually, his careful stitching ended and her face was back together. He showed her his handiwork in the mirror afterward, and she cringed at the sight of herself. The stitching was neat and straight, but the thread was thick and dark, standing out in sharp contrast against the rest of her eerily pale face. It stretched up from the side of her mouth to the space before where her ear started, like a cruel laughing line. It looked like one half of a clown's smile, angry red from almost becoming infected, and already scabbing.

This was by far the most hideous one yet.

"See?" Effy said, voice noticeably shaky despite her smile, "It's not that bad."

Beth gave her an unimpressed look.

"I agree," Edwards nodded, cleaning the bloody needle, "Scars like this define you. They show what you've been through."

"But . . . it's ugly."

Daryl's face twisted into a frown, "It ain't."

"It isn't!" Effy agreed, "I think it's cool. Makes you look pretty badass."

She couldn't rebuke their retorts anymore, so she just sat cross-legged on the bed with a feeble expression on her face, only the thickly stitched line made it look like she was half grinning. Edwards words ran through her head though, pushing away the arguing from before and filling her with those five powerful words.

 _Scars like this define you._

Something morphed in her expression. The trembling ceased and her expression toughened like forged steel. She couldn't see but this made the stitches look even eerier, and her lips curved into a slight frown as her thoughts raced.

In a bizarre kind of way, she was glad for these new stitches, because in the words of Janet Fitch: _In a perverse way, I was glad for the stitches, glad it would show, that there would be scars. What was the point in just being hurt on the inside? ._ _. ._ _It should bloody well show._

You couldn't be who you were anymore.

.

.

Edwards stared at her intently, watching the emotions stir in her eyes as she stared at her hands in her lap. He hadn't been lying when he'd said he thought the new scar looked good. It did. She obviously didn't think so though because, in her words, it was ugly.

But that wasn't the point.

It wasn't _pretty_ , but it was defining. Horrible but beautiful. Fragile but strong. Scars didn't form on the dying, that was a fact, and she was covered in scars now. That said enough on its own.

It showed she was _powerful_.

Something intense flickered in her large glassy eyes then, and she stood up. He glanced at Effy in questioning, but her eyes were fixed on the blonde. Daryl's had never left. He looked back and saw Beth staring at the ground, fists balled at her sides before her head finally tilted up and she stared at the door. Walking slowly but with a strange sense of purpose, she opened the door and strode out. He, Daryl and Effy followed and everyone in the RV turned to stare at them when they came out. Beth's eyes were glued to the road ahead outside the front windscreen, scowl deep and her eyes sharp, and Edwards wanted to know what she was thinking.

Where were the tears? The panicking? She'd been so upset just a while ago, but now she was almost like another person.

Where had all that gone?

"Daryl," she said suddenly, startling the archer as he straightened his posture.

"Yeah?"

The cuts on her face glowed in the artificial light of the RV, and somehow they looked even more red and angry.

Like they were screaming.

She seemed very resolute about something. Edwards wondered what it was.

"You and Rosita came from that place just south of D.C," she said, "Alexandria."

"Yeah," he muttered.

". . . Is everyone else there too? Rick . . . Carol . . . _Maggie_?"

He seemed unnerved by her novel iron demeanour.

"Uh. Yeah."

That odd look in her eyes solidified then, and Edwards finally understood what she was thinking.

 _That's the place I'm hopin' my family will be._

She'd said that, right at the start when their goal had been Richmond, and it was still true now. It was what she'd wanted—been _hoping_ —all along. Just that one objective had kept her fighting all this time, kept her living, and now . . . Now she had the chance to actually get to do it.

"We're going," she said, and the others blinked in surprise at the decision. "We're goin' to Alexandria."

"But," Sherry stood up from her seat beside Mark, "I thought you wanted to try and cross paths with Dwight out here? How do we do that if we go there?"

Edwards knew Beth's decision was final.

"Alexandria is a community," she replied, "Rick and everyone else is there. That's more than double our numbers now. If we go there, we can _all_ go out and look for them. Aaron and Abraham are lost too, so they'll want to find them. I need . . . _We_ need _help_."

 _She finally has the chance to go home_.

Edwards understood.

He understood what she wanted. What she'd wanted all this time, after all the pain, all the heartbreak, all the running . . . She wanted to finally see the people she'd been running _towards_.

He smiled and readjusted his glasses.

"All right," he said, capturing her attention, "I'm in."

She glanced at him and the dark façade she'd put up momentarily faded back to the girl he'd taken under his wing in the hospital. The girl with sunshine blonde hair and eyes so gentle one moment, and then raging like a fire in the next. She'd been upset when they just turned the machines off to save resources, and she'd been horrified by their system of disposing bodies down the elevator shaft. That girl was gone now, or at least he'd thought she was, but seeing those gentle beholden oceans flickering at him with the flash of a thousand stars . . . he thought that maybe he'd been wrong to think that. She wasn't gone, but the armour she wore was so thick it was hard to see through it sometimes. But finally, she'd lowered the shields to him, and he saw her youthful face once more.

Even if it was covered in blood and bruises this time around.

Her lips twitched and her brows creased with appreciation, and he nodded. Her expression here was so much different to the way she'd looked at him when she'd first awoken in Grady with all those tubes stuck inside her. This one was passive, _grateful_ , vacant of the deceived rage she'd felt because of his selfish actions with Gavin Trevitt.

They'd come a long way, he thought then as she smiled at him softly. A long way since they were both trapped under Dawn's control. If she hadn't come hobbling back that day, alive but with a hole in her head, he knew he'd never have been able to grow like this. He'd never have been set free.

If Jesus hadn't partaken in his resurrection, then Peter would've spent his entire life thinking about his sin until it eventually killed him.

He never would've gotten stronger.

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Review! (please it waters my crops and feeds my family)


	43. Home

**Author's Corner**

Hi again! Thanks a bunch for the _wonderful_ reviews you all left on the last few chapters, I really enjoyed reading all of them and hearing your thoughts. They also really encourage me to keep going, so don't stop with that, aha.

In regards to these future chapters, I would highly recommend reading the prequel/companion-piece to this: _Where Are You?_ I think I've mentioned it before but it's finished now, so you can go read it all in one go if you want and it'll make these next few chapters even more effective and emotional. If you've already read it, that's great, but reading that in addition to this will really broaden your mind when it comes to this universe. I know a lot of you are still pretty bitter at Maggie, for example, and _Where Are You?_ will hopefully change your perspective on that. It also reveals the complete truth of what happened after the group left Grady with Beth's _'dead'_ body, which Daryl explains and references in this chapter. Maggie's letter is also an important aspect too, so yeah. Go read.

All that aside, I hope you enjoy this next chapter and please leave a review!

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own TWD.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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 **.**

Beth felt anxious as she stood with her head sticking out of the open window, powerful winds catching the strands of hair around her face and making them flap ferociously. They'd been driving well into the night and the first rays of morning were beginning to show. The dark blue curtain began to bleed a pale pinkish cyan where the sun was starting to ascend from behind the distant hills, and streams of white and yellow crept up into the sky in trails of thin cloud. She stared at the spectacle, hands on the rusted window frame, her eyes and jaw set hard like before.

She didn't particularly think of herself as a dictator, but she had spoken for the entire group with her decision and not thought of what they wanted to do. The choice was the best one, she reminded herself, and all that mattered was gathering as many people together possible. For strength and numbers.

For the _greater good_.

She shivered.

 _You are not in charge here_ , she hissed at the female officer in her mind, willing her and her poisonous control away. _You died with me. Daryl made sure of it_.

Dawn hissed and crawled away back into the shadows of Beth's labyrinth mind, but Beth sensed that wasn't the last she'd seen of her. She was like a poison clogging up her veins and clouding her thoughts, especially as of late.

 _You're not strong enough._

 _You're wrong._

Speaking of Daryl, he appeared behind her suddenly and came to stand beside her at the window. She didn't look at him but she knew he was looking at her. His gaze was probing and blazing as always. She sensed his presence beside her though, strong and steady, and found the feeling strange. She'd grown so used to standing alone. No carved broad shoulders by her side. No smell of leather and earth.

". . . Why didn't you come back?" she asked quietly.

He heard despite the almost silent whisper, and she knew his brows would be knitted together in dismay at the question. She turned her head and looked at him. His expression was perplexed like she'd thought, but there were traces of guilt and discomfort in his eyes.

"Rosita told me what happened," she went on, "She said you got swarmed after leaving the hospital, and the only way to get out of it was to leave me behind."

"I didn't want—"

"She also said that Abraham knocked you out because you didn't wanna leave me. But even if he did . . . Couldn't you have still come back afterward?"

The questions felt selfish, and in a way, she understood why they'd done what they did. But yet. They were her _family_. She'd trusted them to keep her safe. Dead or alive. They buried the dead, that was what Glenn always said, but they hadn't done that for her. Even if Daryl was against leaving her behind, why weren't the others?

Why wasn't _Maggie_?

They'd just _left_ her. Left her alone and bleeding in the trunk of a car. Just . . . So, why didn't they come back?

". . . I wasn't there," he said quietly then, drawing her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"When ya got left in that trunk, I wasn't there when it happened. No one was. No one besides Abraham."

She blinked.

"But you got knocked—"

"That was after. We all split up when the walkers came. Me and Abraham went one way but got cornered. I still had you at that point. We had to go separate ways to get out alive, and I handed you to him . . . I . . ."

He'd turned his eyes away from her and his expression was twisted in pain. She stared at him intensely, eyes blazing with the desire for knowledge, and she waited for him to go on.

". . . I gave you to him, an' then when the two of us we regrouped . . . He didn't _have_ you anymore. He'd _left_ ya. I was so fuckin' . . . I couldn't . . . I couldn't believe he'd . . . !"

"And then he knocked you out," she filled in the gap herself.

He nodded, and she felt her breath leave her slowly as she processed what she'd just been told.

It hadn't been all of them.

It had been _him_. One man. A man who'd greeted her when she met him as if nothing had happened. He looked happy to see her, but she'd assumed at the time it was only because he was thinking of the others' reactions to seeing her too.

There'd been an odd look in his eyes amongst the joy, but she hadn't thought about it at the time. She'd never imagined that he . . .

Suddenly, her anger condensed. All the rage and confusion she'd felt for her friends, her _family_ , had been misdirected. She'd spent weeks condemning them and feeling guilty for it, but it didn't change how angry she'd been deep down. For so long, she hadn't been able to fathom how they could just do that to her. After everything. She hadn't been like them, but she didn't think she'd been _that_ unimportant.

Maggie, Daryl, Rick. She hadn't been able to understand how they could have been okay with it. How they could just leave her there and not come back to rescue her. But now she understood. They _hadn't_ been okay with it. They hadn't even been there to participate in the abandoning. That would've made it easier, she thought then. Instead, it was one man whom she'd never even met before, who thought that he not only had the authority to leave her behind in the confines of a trunk . . . but also thought he had the right to make her direct all her hate and bitterness onto her _family_.

A newfound fury sizzled in her heart in that moment as she thought of the buff yet smiling red-haired man she'd encountered in the woods with Lilly and Aaron.

Its source didn't come from the act of abandoning itself, but from the fact that she'd wasted so many weeks feeling hurt and uncertain over something Maggie and the others didn't even do. He'd forced her to hate the people that mattered the most in the _world_ , and if he thought he would get a pass for that just because he'd been welcomed into the circle _she'd_ once belonged to . . . _Her_ family . . .

He was going to think otherwise.

"Why didn't you come back afterwards?" she asked again, eyes having narrowed due to her recent thoughts and the stitches in her cheek, sharp like teeth.

"I _did_ ," he said.

That surprised her.

"After we found out what happened, me an' Maggie went back to the city to look for you. Was her idea actually. I think she might'a been even madder than me when she found out what Abe had done. You should'a seen her, landin' blows to his chest and screamin' like there was no tomorrow. Far as we knew, there wasn't. Especially when we found the trunk and ya weren't in it. Your cardigan was though, all covered in blood an' dirt, lyin' on the ground. So we thought . . . We thought . . ."

Beth's heart skipped.

 _Maggie_.

She'd gone back for her. She and Daryl had gone back to the walker-infested city to search for her lifeless corpse, an action even Beth knew was a foolish one. They'd gone back because they buried their dead, and they weren't going to let her lie rotting in the back of that car as long as they had a say in the matter. But she wasn't there anymore when they got there. She'd awoken by then and crawled out, shedding that filthy cardigan, and staggered back to the hospital on her own. So in a way, a stupid, cruelly _hilarious_ way . . . Beth had created the whole mess herself.

All of a sudden, she began to laugh, startling Daryl and causing him to frown in confusion. She didn't stop laughing though, and soon more tears were streaming down her cheeks as she laughed. Luckily, everyone else was in the other part of the RV, so they weren't around to question what was wrong with her. Witnessing such a bizarre scene would be sure to turn a few heads if there were any. Her tears held sorrow, laughter, relief, _and_ bitterness. She was just shedding her emotions now like a snake, every awful feeling swimming around inside her veins like poison, and that only made her laugh harder.

Daryl reached out to touch her, but she reacted swiftly and caught his wrist in her hand with the cast. She stared up at him with glistening eyes and giggling lips, and felt her head shaking as she half-laughed-half-cried.

"I knew there had to be a reason," she breathed between shivers, voice cracked and low, "I knew something must'a happened to make you do what you did, but I never—I should've . . . For a second, I . . ."

Her eyes tripled with tears and she flashed a huge toothy smile despite herself.

" _I thought you didn't care_!"

The statement practically came out as a laugh, and she lifted her other hand to scrub away the falling tears. Her other hand still held Daryl's, and his fingers shifted and moved to clasp around hers. Remembering another time that happened, _so_ long ago now, her smile widened and she squeezed his hand tightly. The squeeze showed the gratitude she felt for what he'd done for her, though he probably would never understand just what that was, but her grip also held her anger and indifference . . .

For Abraham.

". . . You're stupid sometimes, Greene," Daryl whispered, own eyes glistening, and Beth pushed her rage aside temporarily.

"Yeah," she nodded, "But that's okay . . . Because maybe you are too,"

 _Maybe we're both stupid._

.

.

Finally, something came into view on the horizon amongst all the morning sunlight, and Beth craned her head further out of the window for a better view.

There were tall steel walls and buildings poking out over the tops, and she could make out the giant metal gates at the end of the road they were reaching. The anxiety she'd been feeling doubled at the sight and she bit the inside of her cheek—the opposite side to the stitches—and felt Daryl plant a hand firmly on her shoulder. Edwards and Effy came up to them and the vehicle finally came to a standstill just in front of the gates.

"Ready?" Edwards asked, an odd sense of excitement emitting from him that made her want to smile for some reason.

Effy shared that strange aura too, and Beth knew that they knew she'd been waiting for this all this time, but having it actually happen was starting to feel a little overwhelming. Because what would they all say when they _saw_ her? What would they think? Would they be happy? Or would they just feel incredibly guilty? How would _she_ feel when she saw all of them again?

Tyreese's gravestone suddenly flashed in her mind.

How many of them were even left?

Steeling herself, she nodded at the doctor and took a step forward.

"Let's go."

Rosita was the first out, followed by Edwards, Effy, and Daryl. Beth followed behind and the rest of the group followed behind her, and she stood before the giant gates of Alexandria staring, sunlight streaming down onto her face and making her hair dazzle in a way she felt she didn't deserve anymore.

Slowly, the gate rolled open, and Rosita led them all in. Beth wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but the interior of the place wasn't it. It was clean, still perfectly constructed, and pristine white. The neighbourhood was of very high class and the people walking around were well groomed and just as clean as the community. Beth wandered forward a little before standing rooted to the spot, staring at the sights around her and feeling her heart rate skyrocketing. She glanced at Daryl in front of her and locked her eyes on the torn leather wings on his back, seeking the support she felt looking at them, but seeing him oddly at _ease_ in the place only distressed her more. Several passerbys in the distance stared at the newcomers curiously, but their gazes felt hostile to Beth and she froze up more. Only when Effy walked up beside her and brushed her shoulder against hers did she emerge from the spooked trance she'd fallen in.

Daryl turned and glanced at her over his shoulder then and she saw his eyes shining, his lips curved upwards with a wave of uncharacteristic giddiness. She'd only seen him like this at the funeral home when he scooped her up and carried her—giggling—across the threshold.

This was far from what the funeral home was.

A voice emerged suddenly and Beth turned her head in the direction of it.

"Did you find him?" it asked, and her heart practically stopped when she saw who it belonged to . . .

Rick Grimes came marching from somewhere up the street with that powerful stride of his, closely followed by Carol and Michonne who held rifles in their arms. He'd been addressing Rosita with his question and stopped just before her, and Beth thought she said a _yes_ in response but was too entranced by the sight of the man who'd saved her life and the lives of her family more times than she could count. He had that leather jacket with the fur at the collar, stained with tiny splatters of faded blood, and his jaw was patterned with bristly grey-brown stubble.

Beth's knees trembled and she almost doubled over.

He hadn't noticed her as he spoke to Rosita, and then Edwards as he stepped forwards, and Beth reached out and gripped Effy's hand tightly. She was shaking, lips quaking as she stared, and Effy let her squeeze her fingers belligerently to try to relieve some of the pressure.

Carol and Michonne hadn't noticed her either, both of them standing behind Rick with their weapons, and Beth trembled even more at the sight of them so close. Carol looked like she had at Grady, only very much more physically healed and wearing a peculiar bright blue sweater that painfully reminded Beth of the one her mother used to wear. Michonne was also wearing a bright orange undershirt, and Beth was _unbelievably_ glad to see her there.

 _Alive_.

The last time she'd seen Michonne was before the fall of the prison, since she hadn't been there at the hospital exchange. She'd even worried for a while that she too, like Tyreese, might've . . .

But she hadn't.

She hadn't.

"Brought a lotta people back with him," Rick's voice broke through the tense air surrounding Beth.

"Yeah. We brought someone else too," Rosita's grinned, and she glanced over at Beth and cast her a glance.

Rick followed Rosita's eyes cautiously and quickly froze when his gaze came to fall over her.

 _Oh god_.

His eyes blew wide and his lips parted, face painted in shock and complete utter disbelief, and Beth swallowed and slowly stepped forward, knees shaking and barely holding her up.

Carol and Michonne's expressions also bled into massive shock when they too laid eyes on her, and Beth felt her heart beating faster under their intensive stares. Daryl smiled and Beth felt her own lips tugging into a shivering curve as Rick slowly walked closer to her, eyes light and blue like the sea, and they studied her carefully as he stopped just before her. His eyes flicked from side to side as he stared into both of hers, and his brows curled into an expression of impossible delight.

She smiled then, her own brow twisting with near gleeful sorrow, and Rick speedily lurched forward and pulled her into to his chest, arms tight around her shoulders. Releasing a deep rattling breath, Beth wound her arms around his torso and pressed her face into his shoulder, closing her eyes and feeling his hand come up and stroke the back of her head. He had his mouth pushed against her hair and she remembered the kiss he'd planted there in the hallway, and she stifled a whimper at the memory. Pulling away, her face was shining with a radiant smile she hadn't worn in so long, and his was incredibly similar.

She turned and looked at Carol and Michonne then—Michonne who had her hands up and covering her mouth as she trembled, and Carol smiling with big teary eyes. Unhesitating, she launched herself into Carol's arms then and laughed, feeling the woman laugh too and hug her back. She then did the same with Michonne and felt her chuckling quietly too, and tears of brilliant joy gleamed in Beth's eyes when she opened them, and almost rolled down her scarred and blood-stained cheeks.

" _Oh my god_ ," she heard Carol whisper into her hands, and that made her laugh more and sag against Michonne as her knees finally gave way.

"Surprise?" she whispered, leaning back to stare at them, and Michonne _was_ crying now. She lifted her hands and cupped Beth's cheeks, her face damp with tears and glowing with a smile, and Beth let her eyelids slide closed once more to revel in the warm and familiar feeling. Carol reached out and took her hand then, and Beth threaded their fingers together and held her hand delicately in her own.

Beth wondered momentarily if this was all that was _left_ of their once invincible group. A terrible fleeting thought.

But then _Glenn_ came down the street, probably to see what all the commotion was about, and stopped dead in his tracks when he saw her embracing Michonne and Carol.

". . . What the?" he choked, "Sweet . . . _Jesus_!"

Beth burst out laughing again.

He wandered closer, honey brown eyes wide with the same shock the others felt, and Beth thought he'd changed the most upon studying him. He'd grown taller since they'd first met him on the farm, and his limbs had evened out and grown stronger. She only just noticed those things now, after not seeing him for so long, and he even had an abundance of facial hair sprouting above his top lip. His hair was thicker and wavier too, but his smile remained the same as always.

Open and kind.

She stepped out of Michonne's embrace and threw her arms around Glenn, feeling him breathe deeply in utter surprise but then hug her back, casting Rick an overjoyed but questioning glance over her shoulder.

"Don't look at me," Rick shrugged, grin still almost tearing his face in two and eyes glittering, "I have no idea."

Once she released him, Glenn's smile seemed to triple in size and he suddenly clasped her hands in his own. She blinked at the action but he just beamed.

"I don't know what the hell's going on," he said, "Or how this happened . . . But you have to come with me. There's someone who _has_ to see you. Please. C'mon."

Beth smiled when she thought she might know who he was talking about.

She tilted her head and gave Edwards a nod, smile still painting her face with glowing gladness, and he returned it, understanding her wishes. She smiled at Effy too before letting Glenn practically run her down the road he came from, and Daryl and Edwards followed behind, both of them knowing full well where the immensely excited Glenn was leading them.

 _I'm coming_ , she thought with another breathless laugh. _I am_.

 _Hold on for me, Maggie_.

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Don't forget to read _Where Are You?_ whilst you're waiting for the next chapter! (obviously I can't force you lol but it would make all of this a lot better.)

 _ **Tumblr:**_ happycookiie.


	44. Birds and starlight

**Author's Corner**

Thank you SO MUCH for the reviews! I got a wonderful one expressing their hatred of Abraham (lmao). Like the reviewer said, he probably thought he was doing the right thing, but I think we all know that that's not going to be good enough for our destructive bulletproof heroine who's developed a bit of a taste for vengeance. Soooo your wishes of seeing him receive his comeuppance might _actually_ come true.

I've also been enjoying seeing the mixed responses when it comes to Maggie. From what I've seen, it seems to be pretty 50/50. Either you love and forgive her, or you're mega pissed and want Beth to hold a grudge forever (bit unlikely really though I mean it's her fuckin _sister_ man). Personally, I find Maggie's ordeal interesting, which you all must know by now from how much I talk about it and from the fact that I literally wrote a prequel to this from her POV. I don't really fit into either of those opinions. I don't hate or resent her for what she did, however, I do think she made a big mistake, and if you've read _WAY?_ (which I highly suggested you do, especially before reading this chapter), you'll know that _she_ does too. So if you haven't read that, go ahead and read it. It'll make this chapter a hundred times more effective.

Unless you don't want to, that's fine too. It'll just help you understand Maggie's perspective is all.

Rambling aside, there's a _SUPER_ important part at the end of the chapter that you might want to think about whilst you're waiting for the next chapter. It doesn't really tell you much at this point, but what you learn in the _next_ chapter is hugely important to the narrative and explains a few things that will be happening and have already happened. So keep your eyes peeled for that. And without further ado, please enjoy this chapter!

 **Disclaimer:** I still don't own TWD, which is probably for the best because I don't think Avery wants me to. If I did I feel like she'd cry every episode and then take a boat across the ocean just to punch me in the stomach for causing her pain. (again, sorry bb)

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

 _The night was quiet on the farm, besides the occasional rumble of the sheep and the whinnies of the horses in the stables. The air was warm and humid in the growing heat of summer, and Beth found her feet carrying her across the field to the grassy slope beside the farmhouse where a stationary figure laid stretched out across the blades of moon-bathed green._

 _Maggie laid sprawled out on the hill, her eyes closed and short hair fanning out around her head like a halo of warm soil. She looked so peaceful like that. So effortlessly lovely. Her cowboy's hat had fallen off as she lay there though and now sat crumpled on the grass beside her, discarded. Beth bent quietly to pick it up, hoping not to disturb her sister. It didn't work because Maggie's eyelids gracefully lifted to reveal the sparkling deep green gemstones, and she smiled up at her. Returning the smile, Beth seated herself at Maggie's left side and put the hat on top of her own head._

 _"What_ _d'you_ _wanna do when you finish school_ _?_ _" Maggie asked unexpectedly, and Beth leaned back on her hands as she thought._

 _"_ _I_ _don't know_ _," she shrugged, "Somethin'_ _. . ._ _influential."_

 _Maggie looked at her with surprise at the answer. "_ Influential _?" she repeated with traces of a smile, "What does_ that _mean?"_

 _Beth felt a smile forming on her lips and she pulled her knees up to her chest._

 _"I'm not sure how exactly, or why, but I wanna_ be _something. More than just a farmer's daughter who sings in her spare time. I wanna be_ _. . ."_

 _She didn't even know what she wanted to be._

 _"Wh_ _en_ _I live, I wanna shine. I wanna be something that inspires other people. Something special. I don't wanna be weak. You're not weak. If I was like you I could_ _. . ."_

 _Maggie sat up._

 _"Where's this comin' from?" she asked, gaze skeptical and mouth drawn into a neat perfect line._

 _Beth shrugged and felt her smile grow._

 _"I don't know. But what I_ do _know_ _is that I wanna be strong."_

 _After staring at her for a while, Maggie's lips curved into a smile and she clasped Beth's hand in her own. "As long as you're with me," she said, "You don't have to be. I'll take care of you. You can always count on your big sister, can't ya? Don't think you can get rid of me so easily. We're stuck together. A rock an' a clamshell, like the one Shawn tried to haul off when we last went to the beach. Remember?"_

 _Beth smiled back, but a part of her seemed to be saying that that wasn't exactly what she'd been trying to say._

 _She didn't even know what it was that she'd been trying to say._

 _Maybe she'd never know._

 _"We'll always be together, Bethy."_

 _Maggie's voice was softer and more serious this time, which was surprising to Beth, and her warm green eyes shone when she tilted her head to regard her little sister._

 _"_ _You know that_ _,_ _" she whispered after a while, "Right?"_

 _The stars winked at them from above and Beth's golden strands danced around her cheeks as the gentle breeze caught them with its fingers. Teasing and taunting. Stirring the cauldron of enigma. It was almost as if they knew something she didn't know, but at the time, she didn't pay it much heed._

 _Perhaps she should have._

 _Beth nodded._

 _"_ _I do."_

.

.

Glenn led Beth down an abundance of blocks until they reached a medical-looking building. It was smaller than Grady but it did have that pristine air about it. The crisp whiteness and neatness of everything in Alexandria didn't help reduce the intimidating factor of it though. They walked in through the front doors and hurried down a set of passageways, Edwards and Daryl following behind at a certain distance.

All the while, Glenn hadn't let go of her hand, his fingers gripping hers tightly in a way that suggested he was afraid she might crumble away into dust if he let go. Like she'd never really been there in the first place.

 _I didn't wanna be weak._

 _I didn't wanna break._

She felt the rate of her heart exhilarating as he tugged her down another corridor.

 _I haven't._

They stopped at the door to one of the rooms.

 _Not completely._

Glenn let go of her hand then and looked at her, eyes wobbling with the same joy as before but also . . . uncertainty. He was afraid, that much was obvious, but at the same time, he was so happy for what was about to happen his emotions were blaring out like a horn and jumbling. The mere thought of bringing a smile to Maggie's face was enough to lift his own happiness, and Beth found her smile couldn't seem to fade even if she wanted it to. She thought of the countless bikers and tattooed towering men Maggie had dated before the turn, and wondered what she would've thought if she'd have known that the boy with the baseball cap who had a smitten smile on his face that came up to the farm that day would end up being the man she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

She wondered.

Her smile softened and Glenn gave her a nod before reaching out to open the door. He stayed where he was and gestured for her to go in, and she wandered through the doorway hesitantly, entering a dimness cast from drawn curtains.

The room was small and stuffy, reminding her of her own at Grady, but this one had a much less harsh and disinfectant-soaked smell. It smelled warm, safe, and oddly comforting. The curtains hanging at the window danced with the breeze coming in from the open pane, and tiny rays of light peeked through as they moved. The light hit the room in little places once at a time, and finally, Beth's attention was drawn to the bed at the other side of the room . . . where a _figure_ was laid beneath the basic cream sheets.

Sunlight hit the sleeping woman's cheeks and illuminated her in a tawny regal glow, and Beth's breath hitched at the fantastical sight.

The woman looked to be stirring and her eyelids flickered, before lifting slowly and revealing the earthy green colour beneath. She blinked several times before shifting her gaze over towards where Beth stood in the doorway, and Beth stood hypnotized with her lips trembling. Her hair was shorter than Beth had ever seen it, and it fanned out around her head softly like a cozy nest.

Her brow furrowed as she stared at her, before shooting up in vivid surprise and disbelief.

She blinked again, harder, apparently under the essence of an alleged dream.

Beth finally summoned the strength to open her mouth in the midst of all the marvel, and then whispered one single word . . .

". . . _Maggie_?"

The breath Maggie released in response sounded somewhat like a laugh, though Beth didn't know why she would be laughing. She closed her eyes and a smile fell across her face, despite her creased up brow, and Beth couldn't help but think what a strange reaction she was having.

She supposed it would be quite a surprise though to see your sister walk into your sickroom after they were supposed to be dead.

 _We're not broken in our dreams._

"Maggie?" Beth called her name again, and it made Maggie re-open her eyes and look at her again.

She stared at the scars on her face, the blood on her cheeks, and eventually, her gaze came to rest on the unkempt braid swinging in her ponytail. She'd stopped tying it in Grady, but after they'd burned it to the ground, picking up that part of herself again seemed like a good thing to do. A lot of pretty things about her had been worn out in that hospital, but that didn't mean she was going to just accept that and not try to maintain some of the things that made her who she was.

Maggie looked like she was choking on her own breath, her eyes dazzling with growing tears, and suddenly, Beth smiled.

The light from the gaps in the curtains poured in more brightly then and hit her bruised up cheeks, and she felt the warmth flowing through her damaged soul. Perhaps she looked like a ghost, standing there in the peculiar white light. Such a thought was understandable, but Beth herself had never seen a ghost. Not even in all the madness the world was soaked in now. She'd never seen her mama, or Shawn, or Patricia, or Otis. She'd never even seen Daddy. They only came to her in her dreams, and the promise Maggie had written in her letter. The promise that maybe . . .

 _Maybe_.

They'd all see each other again.

Someday.

Slowly, a smile began to grow on Maggie's face, and the sight of it made Beth's double in size. A cool breeze blew through the window then and stroked their clammy flesh, and Maggie leisurely lifted her hand . . . and reached for her from where she sat in the bed.

Beth cocked her head to the side and felt tears welling in her eyes, and walked towards the bed shakily. Maggie kept her hand outstretched, and finally, Beth reached the side of the bed, then reached out with her own hand to touch Maggie's trembling fingers.

Like a rock and a clamshell.

Maggie's fingers were sweaty and shaking, and Beth clasped them softly but firmly and lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed. Her strong cheekbones looked hollow up close and sickly, and her eyes were shining with thick glittering tears. Her hair was short and falling around her temples in knotty clumps. Beth stared at her and opened her mouth to speak, but all of a sudden couldn't summon the words she'd wanted to say once she finally saw her again. Maggie didn't speak either, apparently still under the illusion of hysteria and a dream, and Beth bit her grinning lip.

"You . . . look like hell," she breathed, and Maggie burst into familiar laughter.

"Says _you_ ," she shook her head, reaching out to cup Beth's battered left cheek with her other hand. Beth felt her mouth trembling as Maggie's fingers brushed along the sharp lines on that cheek, and she squeezed her hand tightly and willed the tears away.

She'd had enough tears for quite some time.

The same couldn't be said for Maggie though because soon tears began to roll down her cheeks and she stifled a sob. She cupped Beth's cheeks and pressed her forehead against hers, soft tufts of brown hair tickling Beth's face and making her think of nights spent in pillow forts and tents made of sheets and washing line pegs. Maggie's closed eyelids fluttered with sobs and dismay over something, and when she re-opened them they shone with more guilt than Beth could take.

"I'm sorry . . ." she whispered, "Oh, god . . . I'm so _sorry_ , I . . ."

Beth wound her arms around her sister and pulled her close, head resting just above her breast and over her steadily beating heart. Mama had done that to them when they were little, but after she died they'd had to do it themselves.

It wasn't like Daddy could do it anymore either.

"Shh," she breathed against the top of her head, half talking to Maggie and half herself, "It's . . . It's okay."

"You're not real,"

"Well, you're in for a real surprise when you pull yourself together."

Maggie laughed breathlessly against her neck and shook her head.

"You can't be real," she said, "You can't . . . You've come to help me. Like you said back at the farm when you wanted to . . . You've come _for_ me. Finally . . ."

 _To take me with you, far away from all of this._

 _Where it can be our choice._

"I have," Beth said, "But not in the way you think."

Sniffling, Maggie lifted her head and met Beth's gaze. Before, Beth had wondered if she'd be angry at her after everything. Her absence at the hostage exchange, what she'd written in the letter about leaving for D.C., and the trunk. But seeing her now, and after hearing Daryl's words of Abraham's terrible actions . . . She knew she could never be angry.

Not at her.

"After . . ." Maggie whispered quietly, "I wrote you a letter. I wanted . . . I wanted to tell you things, I—"

"I know."

She blinked at that and watched as Beth leaned back slightly to reach for the folded up envelope she carried in her boot. She pulled it out and smoothed it, before opening it up and pulling out the letter.

Maggie's eyes went wide at the sight of it and Beth placed it on her lap.

 _It's not a dream._

That was what they'd been trying to tell themselves for years now, that the world was the way it was now. It wasn't all some dream. Some sick torture their brains had conjured up to make them appreciate the way things had been before.

It was real.

 _This_ was real.

"I said . . ." Beth whispered.

 _I won't go without you!_

". . . I said I wouldn't leave."

The tears in Maggie's eyes doubled and spilled down her cheeks madly, and she stared at the letter lying on the quilt with rapidly blinking damp eyes. Beth reached out and wiped some of the falling tears away, and Maggie shook violently with loud messy sobs. She remembered what she'd said to Mark then, on the topic of his relationship with Matty, and tried not to wince at the memory of him.

 _I don't even know if she's alive or not._

"I thought you were dead," Beth said softly when Maggie pulled her into her arms once more, "I thought you were dead, because you didn't come to the hospital and get me outta there. It wasn't your fault, you were hurtin', we'd just lost Daddy, I got it, but still I . . . I didn't know why you weren't there, I _didn't_ get it, you . . ."

 _We all got jobs to do._

Beth felt a whine erupt unintentionally from her throat.

 _All of us._

"You promised we'd always be together."

Maggie seemed to cry harder at that and Beth could practically feel the guilt pouring out of her, and she felt horrible for letting her words get carried away like that. She cupped the back of Maggie's head with her hand and held her like Maggie had when Joseph Carter had cheated on her at the start of high school. She'd been young, and Shawn beating the poor guy to a pulp hadn't been enough to make her feel better. But when she got home and Maggie found her crying by the well at the top of the farm, she'd held her in her arms and called him a jackass.

 _We all got jobs to do, and maybe now they're finally done._

"It's okay," she said again, and the letter fell off the bed to the ground due to the sheer force of Maggie's hold.

 _You gotta know that now._

She sensed Maggie might not ever be able to ever completely forgive herself for what she'd done, and that hurt. Because to her, Maggie, her sister, had and always would be . . . her _hero_. Even if Beth had to become her own to save herself in the end, Maggie's love meant the most in the world, and she could never condemn her for something so futile.

Never.

 _I'm trying to find her._

They fell asleep like that on the bed in the infirmary, tucked together like birds in their nest, limbs tangled together, and cheeks sticky with tears.

.

.

"Daryl?"

Dr. Steven Edwards stood awkwardly in the doorway of Alexandria's parts garage and watched as Daryl Dixon stopped twisting something underneath his bike with a screwdriver to glance up at him.

"What?" he asked, wiping his hands with a cloth.

Edwards swallowed and wiped his sweaty palms on his pants.

"I . . . have to talk to you about something," he said, and Daryl frowned at the ambiguity.

"Ok," he trailed, "Can ya make it quick? I was gonna go see Beth. She's up with Maggie in the infirmary."

"Actually . . . This is _about_ Beth."

 **.**

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Cliffhanger again (sort of), I'm sorry. The next chapter picks up instantly where this finishes and remember that Edwards and Daryl's conversation will be massively important and reveal a huge huge HUGE fact. I'm not going to tell you what until next time though (mwaha). So stay tuned.

 _P.S.:_ FTWD is really good you should all watch.


	45. Shattered glass

**Author's Corner**

Hello! I hope you all had a happy halloween, and have (if you celebrate it), a happy bonfire night tonight! Thank you so so much for all the amazing feedback you people never fail to give, I love hearing from you. And thank you especially to an anonymous reader that sent a message to **dixonbeth** on tumblr recommending this fic (thank you I read everything you said ily). Keep that up because it motivates me with writing and makes the updating process quicker.

There's gonna be a huge information dump in the first part of this chapter, so read it carefully and absorb everything that's said, because I think it will explain a lot of things and bring a lot of unanswered questions you might have had into the light. I won't say anything about it now obviously because that would spoil it, so just go ahead and read to find out what I'm talking about.

Enjoy the chapter and don't forget to review once you've read it!~

 **Disclaimer:** why do we even still write this things it's quite adamant that I don't own TWD.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

That caught his attention.

Daryl put down the greasy cloth he was holding and looked at him, dark, icy eyes scanning for answers. His expression told him to be out with it, and Edwards balled his fists before opening his mouth to speak. He might've been afraid in a situation like this before, but somehow now he managed to find his strength.

He always managed to find it when it came to medical procedures and Beth Greene.

"I think that she might be suffering from _Dissociative Identity Disorder_."

Daryl's eyebrows shot downward with confounded hostility.

"Disso- _what_?" he spat, and Edwards suddenly felt immensely uncomfortable under his strident gaze.

" _Dissociative Identity Disorder_ ," he repeated, " _Multiple Personality Disorder_. Or something along those lines . . . I think it has something to do with the headshot, and everything that came before and after that."

Daryl crossed his arms across his front.

"Start talkin'."

Edwards gathered himself and spoke his mind at last.

"I've been watching her since we left the hospital. And she's displayed some alarming symptoms that could belong to that defect. Along with the obvious signs of PTSD, she's impulsive, has episodes of high frenzy and panic, alarming cases of mood swings, and there've been occasions where she even struggled to comprehend and verify certain things. Morgan told me that once after waking, she apparently couldn't see or recognise anyone else around her, because of a deficiency in her brain which I think has been caused by the fragments of shattered bullet I couldn't remove."

"Shattered bullet? What're ya _talkin'_ about?"

"When Beth came back to Grady after being been shot, she collapsed into a comatose state that lasted for weeks. During that state, I operated on the injury and discovered pieces of shattered bullet residue left behind inside the wound. I retracted as many pieces as possible, but there were some I couldn't get to, so they remain there still. Again, I'm not completely sure . . . but I do believe those remaining pieces are causing her to act in certain, perturbing manners."

Daryl looked horrified.

Understandably.

"DID is commonly caused by trauma or stress, and I think in this case it's obviously both of those factors that play a vital role. During her time at the hospital, Beth was forced to do strenuous corporal labour, she was physically abused by the higher-ups on more than one occasion, and then she did something that would _definitely_ evoke a serious case of PTSD . . . She made her first human _kill_."

"She was abused?"

"Where do you think the scars came from?"

Rage began to settle into the man's feral features before him at the thought of someone laying hands on and cutting up Beth's face, and Edwards continued with caution because of the topic coming up.

"Whilst she was comatose, I injected her with something to speed up the recovery process, and I think that could've affected her negatively as well as positively. We were working on a serum that increased bodily recovery rate and provided a brief immunity to the walker virus, as long as the liquid was still circulating your system. I fed a _vast_ abundance of it into Beth in the hopes that it would save her, and it did. But . . ."

"But _what_!?"

"We . . . didn't quite _finish_ the development or research of the drug, so after taking so much of it into her bloodstream, I believe Beth is . . . _mutating_."

Daryl's mouth twisted into a harsh frown and his brow creased with severity.

"The fuck does _that_ mean?" he spat.

"It's nothing major, I don't think," Edwards replied hesitantly, "But her tolerance for physical pain seems to be remarkably higher than all of ours. Certain flesh injuries she receives heal particularly fast, for example, bruises only last for so long on her skin before they fade away. Cuts and scrapes too, unless they're deep enough to scar. It's strange."

Daryl seemed to process the information for a while, fingers tapping against the seat of his motorbike, and he lifted his other hand to chew on the skin around his thumb. Edwards watched him, glad to have finally gotten the subject out of his head, but worrying over how it would be received if Beth ever found out.

And she would.

He knew she would.

"Have you said anythin' about this to her?" Daryl asked finally, and Edwards felt a pang of guilt in his chest.

". . . No. I haven't told anyone. I . . ."

"Then why'd you tell _me_?"

His glasses slid down his nose as he looked down at his feet, and he remembered frantically stuffing every medical tube that Grady had into Beth's skin and feeding the azure liquid into her, desperately willing it to save her.

The subjects before her had been flimsy and unable to accept the stuff into their systems, but she'd _thrived_ on it and let it flow through her like a new kind of blood. It had bonded with her like it belonged in her. And then, somehow, by what felt like a miracle, she woke up three weeks later, with veins burning with that outlandish fluid that had salvaged her life.

He'd gone against everything Dawn would have said in that scenario, but yet the first thing Beth Greene said to him when she awoke . . . was _that_ very name. And then he injected her again and forced her back into restrained slumber.

"I thought you could help her," he admitted, drawing his gaze back up, "That if anyone could, it'd be you. That's why I told you."

The antagonism in Daryl's expression slowly melted away, and Edwards felt his mouth twitch nervously. He'd refrained from telling anyone this theory he'd conducted out of fear of . . . he wasn't even sure what. Uncertainty? There were times he was positively _sure_ Beth was not well, but then she'd do a 180° and magically have the power to manipulate everything around her perfectly. Like when she'd rushed out to calm them all at Grady during the crisis, and led them out of that place and towards a future.

 _You run, as far as you can._

 _So you live._

He was alive because of her, and he would be damned if he let her slide away into disaster without even trying to help her through.

Even if she might resent him for not telling her about her issue.

". . . How can I help her?" Daryl asked quietly.

Edwards felt a hopeful smile tugging at his lips, and he reached to open the briefcase he carried that contained the remaining tubes of insipid blue serum.

.

.

Beth stirred when she felt someone shaking her awake, and opened her eyes to see Maggie laid out on the bed beside her, still asleep. Tilting her head dazedly, she saw that it was Effy standing at the bedside with a hand on her shoulder.

"Oh," she rasped groggily, turning and pulling herself up, "What's wrong?"

Effy's face was bright with what looked like eagerness and excitement, and she seemed to have something on the tip of her tongue that she wanted to say.

Maggie murmured something in her sleep but didn't wake, and Beth waited for Effy to speak.

"It's Morgan and the others," she said finally, "They're here. They just came in through the front gates now."

Sleep rushed out of Beth's system like a tide and she blinked with awareness.

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, come see."

Beth glanced down at Maggie's sleeping profile and enormously wanted to stay with her in their own little cocoon, and Effy must have sensed that because she put her hand on Beth's arm and smiled.

Beth smiled too.

"Y'know, for a while . . ." she whispered, the guilt on her face as plain as the scars, "I thought that maybe they were dead."

Effy's smile softened, and her green eyes shone with warmth and an odd sense of knowing. "Me too," she admitted, "But it's like you said, all the way back when we escaped the hospital, when I thought I couldn't jump and you told me I could . . . You've just got to believe and have faith. Because if you have faith, it'll all work out."

Beth felt her pulse quicken at the words.

 _Her_ words, as she crouched before a trembling and heavily breathing girl at the pinnacle of the Grady spire. A girl who was afraid. Who thought she was about to die. She'd asked her name and then she'd taken her hand and led her towards the edge and they'd jumped, away from the flames and towards the light. They'd already been running so long, and now . . .

 _Just gotta believe and have faith._

And then she remembered the blind hope and determination she'd felt upon waking up on that medical tray. The place was being swarmed and an alien substance flowed through her veins, filling her with fire and a shattered sense of newfound ability. She'd been saved by the man who'd essentially killed her, or played a part in the act. At the time, she'd been bursting with that fury, drinking it like an elixir to stay alive, and now, it had taken root in her dying bones and grown into something else.

 _She'd_ grown into something else.

It had been her chance. Her chance to stand on her own two feet and save them all. To believe they could save themselves, like no one had believed of her.

It was _still_ her last chance.

 _Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith._

Exactly the opposite, in fact.

"I'll stay here with her," Effy said, glancing at the sleeping Maggie. "If she wakes up, I'll tell her where you've gone."

Beth nodded, smiling because of her thoughts.

"Thank you."

She moved to get up, then looked down at Maggie and felt a pang in her heart. "If I'm not back before she wakes up, tell her . . ." she said, "Tell her I'm coming back. For real this time."

Effy smiled and nodded, and after passing Maggie one last fleeting glance, Beth brushed some strands of dark hair away from her face and then got up from the bed and darted out into the corridor.

.

.

Lilly followed Aaron through the huge iron gates of Alexandria and turned her head to regard Morgan and Abraham who were hauling along the unconscious Wolf at the back. Tanaka walked at her side, eyes fixed on the scenery ahead, apparently not at all worried about knocking the stranger out and having to face his wrath later.

If they made sure his confinement was right, maybe he wouldn't have to.

Shepherd walked at her other side, but her gaze seemed troubled and uneasy. She'd also seen Dwight passing quick anxious glances back at the strange man, and the Wolf's words remained fresh in her mind.

Dwight had tortured him.

Under _Beth's_ command.

The latter part was quite a surprising discovery, but then Lilly remembered the first time she'd ever seen the girl, arm dripping with blood and a piece of broken glass gripped in her hand as a weapon. Gregg must have gotten the fright of his life when he'd found her busted out of her holding cell and then given chase. Gregg . . .

Lilly hoped he was alright.

The last time she'd seen him was in the RV, and there were people in there that would take care of him. But she was supposed to have taken care of Meghan, and when she let her out of her sight for just a few seconds . . . Just a few tiny _seconds_. . .

 _Please be al_ _l_ _right. Oh please._

The Safe Zone was a lot cleaner than any kind of post-apocalypse sanctuary Lilly had seen up until now, and the giant gate rolled shut behind them as they stood waiting for Aaron to speak from the front. He turned and made his gaze fall on the still heavily unconscious Wolf sagging against Morgan and Abraham. "What are we going to do about him?" he asked.

"Don't suppose ya got a jail in here or anythin'?" Dwight remarked dryly, eyeing the surroundings skeptically just like Lilly was.

"No," Aaron said, "But there's a few basements with locks on the doors. We could keep him there until Rick decides what to do with him."

"Alrighty-ho," Abraham nodded, "Let's get this prick down in one of 'em then."

They were about to head in the direction of one of the houses, when someone came running down the street and caught their attention.

Lilly's eyes grew wide.

It was Beth.

Her scarred cheeks, cowboy boots, blonde hair, and bouncing braid were distinguishable features, and she jogged up to them and smiled brightly at the sight of them. Dwight seemed surprised to see her here too, but her face was all joy as she carelessly leaped forward and pulled the unexpecting man into a hug.

A _hug_! Between _Beth_ and _Dwight_!

Dwight was reluctant to return the embrace at first, but eventually wound his arms around her waist and hugged her back. A sight that was even more astounding to Lilly and the others.

Once she'd sufficiently hugged him, Beth turned her attention to Lilly and went to do the same for her. Lilly found herself smiling as the girl held her tight, and she wrapped her arms around her neck in response. Aaron smiled at the exchange and went to show the way to the basement, until Beth's eyes suddenly fell on Abraham.

She stilled in Lilly's arms, and Lilly felt it instantly and let go. She leaned back and saw something flickering in the girl's eyes as she stared at the redheaded man, and her mouth slowly curved into a hard frown. Abraham stopped too when he felt her heated gaze on him, and she moved away from Lilly to walk towards him. Her steps were even and steady, but there was a heat radiating from her that made Lilly feel uneasy.

Beth stopped just in front of him and stared with narrow, fiery eyes.

"I know what you did." she said, voice quiet and haunting.

Abraham seemed unnerved by the ominous whisper at first, but then his shoulders slumped and he seemed to experience a _realisation_ of some kind, and he released a sharp shaken breath. Beth continued to glare at him, eyes uncannily huge despite the narrowing, glowing with suppressed rage and some kind of silent warning. Like two luminous moons shining with pale light borrowed from the sun.

Lilly wondered if she would say more, but she didn't and instead turned to allow Morgan, Shepherd, and Tanaka to embrace her, but Abraham felt no less at ease even with her gaze no longer on him.

 _I know what you did._

But what did that mean?

Whatever she'd meant, Lilly noted, it clearly had Abraham sweating apprehensively and avoiding looking at her as much as possible. Whatever he'd _done_. . . it was awful. And her vengeful eyes promised no forgiveness.

 _I know what you did._

.

.

Hairs at the back of her neck prickling at the sight of the audacious man walking several meters behind her, Beth clamped down her teeth together hard behind closed lips, and tension radiated from her like fumes. She knew he'd known what she meant when she'd said that. His shoulders had slumped and his eyes had gone wide and spooked, an expression that looked unnatural on a man with his stature and demeanour.

He'd had the chance to tell her before but he hadn't, an action that reeked of cowardice, but still, she'd learned of his actions and she saw that he knew he'd made a mistake. He might be sorry but there was nothing he could use as an excuse to extinguish the flames crackling around the bars of her ribcage.

He'd had no right.

 _No_ damn right.

"You okay?" Shepherd's voice cut through her venomous thoughts, and she turned her head to regard the woman walking beside her.

She remembered her words on the beach after the explosion, randomly.

 _You don't have to pretend you're like iron._

 _Not with us._

Beth's brows sunk and her lips curved into a sad sort of smile.

". . . I found them," she whispered, and Shepherd's joyful smile was a colossal contrast against hers. "I finally found them. They're okay."

Shepherd's smile faded a little and she looked at her ashamedly, and Beth wondered why. Until she answered that unspoken question.

"About what I said," she mumbled in a lower tone, "When we were sitting on the porch in the rain. I asked what would happen when we found them . . . If we _didn't_. . ."

Beth winced at the memory of that conversation, but silently waited for her to continue.

"I'm sorry I said that. I was wrong. We were right to try. You were right for making us. I said there wasn't a difference between trying and failing, but there is. You fail if you _don't_ try, and we did. We tried. And look where it got us."

Beth felt her eyes widen ever so slightly, and her smile bled into one that was less sorrowful. She looked at Shepherd and pondered over the difference between the way she was then and the way she was now. Before, she'd been afraid, too meek to do anything, but now she had a glimmer in her eyes that made Beth think she wasn't afraid anymore. Her, Edwards, Effy, Tanaka . . . They weren't afraid anymore.

Shepherd had worried about turning into Dawn, but couldn't she see? She'd _never_ become like her. She was far too strong and willing to fight for a better way. A better future.

She'd never be like her.

"You're not like _her_ ," Beth smiled, and Shepherd's brow creased in confusion over the statement, but Beth didn't elaborate. She just wanted to say those words.

 _Never_.

.

.

The sound of feet padding against the ground of the floor in the distant corridor caught Edwards's attention and made him lift his head to stare at the doorway. Maggie had fallen into yet another sleep and Lilly was there examining her with him.

Maggie's husband, Glenn, was standing in the doorway, watching his wife with soft careful eyes. His expression was gentle yet laced with concern, and Edwards remembered the way he'd fallen behind Maggie in the parking lot of the hospital. The footsteps, however, hadn't belonged to Glenn, because another figure came up to stand behind him, and the thick blonde waves made it easy to identify the culprit.

"Glenn," Beth called quietly, and the man turned his head slightly to regard her.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

Edwards turned his head down a little to create the impression that he wasn't eavesdropping, but one quick glance across at Lilly told him that she was doing exactly the same thing. Well. It wasn't like they _couldn't_ listen.

Beth seemed to take a deep inhale before opening her mouth to speak again, and when she did, Glenn's face fell faster than when Percy fell from the Grady rooftops.

"Where's Noah?"

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

... Where is Noah indeed?

Thanks for reading and of course if you have any questions just leave them in a review or just message me directly.


	46. Alive

**Author's Corner**

Hello you wonderful people and _HAPPY DECEMBER!_ Which means it's almost christmas (if you celebrate it that is). Once again, thank you for all the wonderful feedback I honestly enjoy reading through every single comment, and please continue to do so as we continue.

Due to some things going on in my life like college stuff and exam prep, this and all of my other multi-chapter fics will be going on _**HIATUS** _ until all that's out of the way. I thought about trying to balance writing and everything else, but decided against it because I really need to do well in these exams since _my life and future career depends on it_ (rip my future). Panic not though, because I will return to this once exam season is over and I have everything I need sorted out (shall we say July 2017 approx.?) I won't be disappearing completely so you can still get in touch with me on **tumblr** and through PM on here. You'll also probably see me posting drabbles and one-shots occasionally for stress relief, so look out for those. To make sure you know when I've returned, I recommend putting this fic on _story alert_ so you see whenever it gets updated (unless you already have it on alert). I'll try and message as many of you on the follow list as I can when I post the next chapter, but I might not manage to contact you all lmao.

So since this is the last update this story will receive for quite a while, I hope you enjoy the chapter. I tried not to leave it on a cliffhanger and also tried to give it a sort of intact and satisfying end point so none of you die from wanting to know what happens next. It would be lovely to hear what you have to think during the _**HIATUS** _ so of course don't be afraid to leave reviews/send me an ask on tumblr.

Enjoy your read!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Edwards watched Glenn's expression twist into a grimace at Beth's question with subtlety from his perch by Maggie Greene's bedside. He, too, had wondered about Noah's whereabouts, then frowned slightly as Glenn lead Beth away to answer her. He wondered why he would do such a thing in response to such a simple question, but then felt a wave of dismay when Glenn eventually returned.

 _Without_ Beth.

Glenn's frown had grown and he kept his gaze locked on the ground as he leaned against the doorway frame, brow creased and uneasy thoughts practically blaring.

Edwards stood, leaving Maggie in Lilly's care, and started walking towards the door. As he passed, Glenn shot him an apologetic and guileful look—one Edwards was all too used to being plastered on his own face—and he made his way down the infirmary hallway in pursuit of Beth. He wasn't sure at all where she'd go, but he wasn't thinking about that as he walked with purpose, strides strong and powerful, and very unlike him.

He hadn't been able to tell her what he'd theorised. Instead, he'd gone and gossiped to Daryl, when he could have just told her upfront. He knew he could've done that, but the truth was he was still afraid.

 _Still_.

She was so fierce and brave. Determined, kind, and everything he wasn't. She dazzled like a bleeding sun raining down cutting sparks, bright and powerful. She was strong even though her mind was tearing and her heart was crying.

He wanted to save her.

Removing as many pieces of shattered bullet he could and then patching up the wound wasn't enough. He'd fixed her physically to the best of his ability, but it was her _soul_ he hadn't been able to salvage. She broke like a mirror when Dawn shot her, and she came back like a reflection. Hazy. Inverted. Distorted. She might have finally found her family, but she'd never really come back to life. And that was because he hadn't been able to see that.

 _Save her. Save her. SAVE HER._

He was damn well going to try.

.

.

He found her around the back of some houses, sitting on the floor cast in shadows with her knees pulled up to her chest. The tie in her hair had fallen out and her hair fell in almost silver ferocious waves around her head and shoulders, completely obscuring her face from view. She had her face shoved into her knees, and she didn't seem to notice him approaching her, or when he stood directly in front of her.

Edwards felt his pulse hammer as he noticed her shoulders shaking mechanically, yet he could hear no sobs coming from her. The cast on her wrist was stained pink and rotten with decay—more than overdue for removal—and the head bandage she usually tied to conceal the bullet mark on her brow looked to have fallen away too. She suddenly sensed his presence and tilted her head up, eyes shining with unshed tears and cheeks bruised from pressing against her sleeves . . . And then _that_ became visible too.

The charred circular scar at the top of her forehead seemed to look angrier and more menacing, but at the same time, it just made her look more like a broken little marionette that had had her strings cut.

 _Save her._

She looked like the forsaken comatose girl he'd watched sleep on a tray for three weeks, small and afraid. Powerless. Seeing her look like that made Edwards want to run away and scrub the image from his eyelids, but that was what a _coward_ would do, and he . . . didn't want to _be_ one anymore.

He lowered down to his knees and sat cross-legged in front of her, unable to tear his eyes away from the hole in her head. She knew he was staring, but she didn't try to cover it. He'd already spent hours staring at it when he tried to clog it up.

She shivered.

What had Glenn _said_?

He soon learned the answer, because she opened her mouth and whispered faintly, voice cracked like a shattered music box.

". . . He's gone."

A disheartened breath left Edwards involuntarily and he blinked slowly.

 _Gone_.

"It was before we got here . . ." she whispered, "A _long_ time before we got here. They were on a run and they got into trouble. Glenn tried but he . . . They don't know where he is. Since then, he's been missing, and we both know what that really means . . . We know . . ."

Edwards sighed quietly.

 _He's gone._

 _Of course._

"He's _gone_ ," she said again, "He's gone and I didn't even . . ." She moved her gaze down to her hands and he saw that they were shaking too. "I always thought he was fine, that he was with them. Whilst we were makin' our way up here, I just assumed . . . It's because of him that I'm even _here_. If not for him, I wouldn't have even had any idea where to go, an' we never would'a found this place . . . never would'a found _them_. If it wasn't for _him_. . ."

 _Now I just need Noah._

"He put candy in my hospital scrubs. He said they didn't know shit about us. He wanted to get out an' he _did_. But when he came with the others to save me, and Dawn wanted him back, so I just . . ."

 _Wait!_

She looked back at him.

"I . . . !"

 _I get it now._

". . . wanted to save him!"

He knew.

Edwards knew. All she'd wanted was to save him. She'd gone to great lengths to ensure it, and yet, he still hadn't made it. He'd still gotten lost in this mess of a world, regardless of how hard she'd tried.

Edwards felt a flash of rage at the universe for its cruelty, then a wave of sorrow as memories of the boy emerged in his mind. He'd been scrawny, yes, but so was Edwards. He hadn't looked like a fighter but there'd been a lightness to him that a part of Edwards wanted to preserve, but didn't know how from the quarantine of the hospital's chains. But then came Beth. Beth Greene with her hair of sunshine who said she still sang, and she saved him. She saved them all. But Edwards saw now that it was Noah who'd saved them all first. Because he'd gone and—

 _They don't know where he is._

Suddenly Edwards let out a gasp.

Taking Beth's hands in his own, he squeezed the hard material of her cast and swallowed thickly. The thought of every awful scenario that could have happened to Noah flashing through his head, he hadn't properly considered her words.

Glenn said Noah was missing.

 _Missing_.

That they didn't know where he was. Meaning . . . They didn't know for sure if he was dead!

"Beth," he said, " _Beth_!"

They didn't know. They didn't know where he was. They'd lost him, but his fate wasn't confirmed. They'd _assumed_ he was dead, obviously. But still. Still!

"They didn't see what happened to him!" he burst out, "You said they don't know for sure what happened to him. They didn't see him die! Think about that . . . Doesn't it all sound so familiar!?"

She blinked with tears falling from her eyes and he only tightened his hold on her hands.

"Just because he's gone, doesn't mean he's _really_ gone. Not forever. Think about what happened to _you_ , after the bullet, and the walkers, and every day Rick and your family spent wandering in a world they thought no longer had you in it. They lost _you_ and they didn't know where _you_ were! And you . . . You found your way back to them! You're still alive! And even if you don't feel like it sometimes, you _are_. You're alive, Beth. You're so alive."

Her eyes glittered and her tears started to fall more vigorously.

"You made it," he said, "You made sure that _he_ made it. You wanted to get him out of there and you did. He was . . . _is_ free, because of you. And so are you. You're free. Whatever happened to him, whether he's alive or dead, it isn't your fault. You _saved_ him, and that's all you could have done for him. If he is still out there, like he could be, he has to save himself."

 _I'm not a coward._

"You have to _believe_ he can, just like you believed _we_ could in Savannah."

 _You showed me how to stop being one._

"So just . . . Have some faith in him."

She breathed out a deep shivering breath she seemed to have been holding, and Edwards felt her fingers shaking in his. He was reminded briefly of Riley. Riley. His Riley. His _daughter_. Her small hands that had been so delicate but at the same time capable of performing harsh tasks, just like Beth's. He'd been trying to keep thoughts of Riley out of his head to stop himself from going insane, but the more time he spent with Beth, the harder doing that was becoming.

 _What was her name?_

Beth Greene was not his brash and wonderful Riley Edwards, but she was something similar. Something made of the same spark, effortlessly burning and filling everyone and everything around her with a fizzing zeal.

 _Riley._

"I know you think this is your fault," he continued, "After everything you did, he still isn't safe like you wanted him to be, but that doesn't mean he's _dead_. Remember what we saw in Richmond. It was deserted and barren and there was no one left. Think what seeing that might've done to him. It was his home; his family. But if he made it past that, then he can do anything. So believe in him. Isn't that what you do best? Your biggest strength . . . Your _hope_."

She seemed to think about that, and her eyes flickered with swirling tears.

"You did what you wanted to do."

 _Hope._

"You got him out."

 _Hope._

"You sacrificed yourself for him."

 _HOPE._

"You managed to _save_ him, so believe in _that._ Ok?"

After more careful thought, her lips twisted painfully and she nodded.

She'd said she could get them out when Grady became infested with walkers, and she did. She got them out. She saved them all. What happened next was down to them.

". . . It still hurts," she whispered, and he squeezed her hands.

He nodded, acknowledged it, and sat quietly, listening to the distant flicker of light switches coming from a nearby house. A normal, yet also peculiarly _abnormal_ noise to hear after all they'd been through.

She said that it hurt, and it should. It was good that it hurt. It showed she was still there, breathing and feeling. Showed she _could_ still feel, even after everything.

It showed she was alive.

.

.

Eventually, they walked back to the medical ward where Maggie was still sleeping soundly and took their places on each side of the bed. Lilly smiled and planted a hand on Beth's shoulder before taking her leave, closing the door behind her as she did.

Glenn was missing from the doorway, Edwards had noticed upon arriving, and wondered where he'd gone.

Beth gazed at Maggie as she slept, steadily reaching out and brushing several strands of dark hair from her face, and a tiny smile crept onto her face as she did. Her eyes then lowered to the quilt covering Maggie's still relatively flat stomach, and she shifted her hand down carefully to rest over the warm flesh of her sister's abdomen. There was a child growing in there. A child that would be born and be her very own niece or nephew. She was feeling new life beneath the palm of her hand, and Edwards knew how that felt when he recalled the warmth he'd also felt upon placing his hand over his wife's pregnancy-inflated stomach.

"What was wrong with her?" Beth asked so quietly that he almost didn't hear it, "Why did she need a doctor?"

"It was nothing bad. Just stress, lack of nutrition, and probably shock from facing a frightening experience with The Saviors. Glenn told me her and Carol were captured by them."

"Captured? Were they hurt?"

"No, but something like that would undoubtedly shake an expecting mother. Things like this are quite normal with pregnancies though so there's nothing to worry about."

"So she's . . . going to be okay?"

This time Edwards smiled.

"Yes."

Beth's smile widened slightly and she retracted her hand from Maggie's stomach, then softly threaded their fingers together and placed them down on top of the covers. Her expression held that of both fear and excitement.

And _pride_.

A huge amount of pride in her sister for what she was about to bring into the world. Gone was the confusion and hysteria that claimed her whenever she went into one of her 'fits'—if one could call them that—and apart from the recent sting from the news about Noah's MIA status, in that moment she was completely soothed.

And then a realisation dawned on Edwards.

"We've come a long way, you an' me," she said suddenly, surprising him.

He blinked and she glanced at him, directing her smile in his direction, and he wanted to tell her what he'd concluded about her condition more than ever.

"Haven't we?"

"I guess."

"I just wanted to say, about the hospital, about what you did . . . I never thanked you."

That surprised him even more.

"When I first woke up, I was so angry. At you, and Dawn, and Rick, but I think the person I was the maddest at was myself. It was anger that got me outta there that day, and it was anger that kept me goin'. But you and I are friends now, Dawn's gone, and I found them all. I don't have to be mad anymore. But sometimes it's so hard not to be. We lost so much and it's not _fair,_ it's like that anger is programmed into me. When I saw Tyreese's name, when Sally died, and _Molly_. . ."

His mouth twitched sadly as she whispered the one short sentence that summed up their current dying world.

"It's not fair."

". . . Yeah. It's not."

"That anger made me feel strong though," she admitted, "At the start, I felt brave and like I could do anything, but now . . . Now I don't know anymore. I don't feel strong anymore. An' maybe that's just because I'm back here with them again, but sometimes I feel . . . I just feel like I've been split into a hundred little pieces. I don't know how to pick up the pieces, never mind try sticking them back together. It's alright to change to survive, but it feels like I lost who I am along the way . . . I don't know who I am anymore."

It was as if he could _see_ the tiny pieces of shattered bullet then, clear as day, glowing beneath her flesh and hair. He wanted desperately to tell her. He wanted to help her. But he still didn't know how to say it.

She smiled helplessly and tilted her head sideways to regard Maggie's sleeping face. "That probably sounds really silly. Sorry. I just wanted you to know that I'm grateful."

He pushed his glasses back up his nose and nodded.

"Me too."

She looked like she wanted to say something else, but Maggie's closed eyelids began to flicker and she started to wake up. Beth beamed and squeezed her still clasped hand, and Maggie stared up at her with a smile of her own.

 _You and I are friends now._

That was right. They were friends. He'd done terrible things and so had she. They'd danced around each other like a firefly and a light, her bitter and him remorseful, but now they were friends, and he thought that maybe he'd thought of a way he could save her. Or try to, at least.

And try, he would.

 _No debts owed?_

 _No debts owed._

.

.

Due to Edwards's recommendations, Beth helped Maggie walk down one of the streets in Alexandria just near the infirmary. He'd suggested she get some air and move about a little, and it seemed to be working because colour had flooded back into her sister's cheeks and her smile seemed a little livelier.

"Feeling okay?" she asked, and Maggie nodded.

"Yeah," she said, steadying herself against Beth with their linked arms, "I'm better than okay. But I still feel like this is just a dream, an' I could wake up any second."

"Well, could Dream Me do _this_?" Beth asked, pulling out a knife and twirling it around her fingers like she'd been practicing.

Maggie's eyebrows rose and she laughed with wonder. "I didn't know you could do that," she said, and Beth grinned.

"I can do a lotta things now,"

"I can see that."

Maggie's smile was gentle and she held Beth's arm tighter, letting her eyes slide closed as they walked. They walked quietly for a while, the breeze cool on Beth's clammy cheeks and neck. Edwards had finally taken off the cast on her wrist and it felt odd having full access to movement in her right hand. It still felt a little bit numb though, but apparently continued movement would help that too.

". . . Did you see 'em?" Maggie asked quietly after a while, and Beth blinked at the ambiguity of the question.

"See what?"

"The . . . The signs I left for Glenn."

Beth went statuesque.

 _Oh._

Did she see them?

 _GLENN, GO TO TERMINUS._

Remembering the abundance of things she'd felt upon passing those giant letters in blood on the roads with Daryl, Beth locked her gaze onto the set of houses up ahead and kept her expression neutral.

"Yeah," she answered, and Maggie tensed up beside her.

". . . Were you . . . upset?"

Beth thought about that.

She'd thought about it after she'd woken up in Grady both the first time and the time after getting shot, and each time she'd felt unhappy and bitter. Maggie hadn't known she'd survived what happened at the prison, and she'd had every right to assume that she hadn't made it based on the person Beth was before then.

But, it had hurt, seeing those words.

It had hurt.

"Yeah," she said again, "I was."

Maggie's face twisted with guilt and Beth tried not to look at her face. She hadn't lied. Seeing the absence of her name there . . . It had _hurt_. A _lot_. She hadn't hated Maggie for it but she had held a slither of resentment and acrimony towards her over it, despite her mostly understanding and forgiving nature. Something had changed though. That Beth had been meek and passive, and the girl she'd grown into now wouldn't have let something like that go so easily . . .

Yet, still.

"But that wasn't the first thing I thought when I saw them."

Maggie now looked both guilt-ridden and confused.

Beth thought about the very first thing she'd felt upon seeing one of those Terminus signs. She'd felt hurt and somewhat angry, yes, but the _first_ thing she'd really felt upon seeing the words and Maggie's name signed at the end was . . .

Happiness.

"I was relieved," she finished, the realisation only just dawning on her after all that time, "The sting came after, but the first feeling I had was _relief_. Seein' your name there, knowin' you were out there, alive, I was so happy."

She heard Maggie take in a sharp intake of breath, and she almost did too because she couldn't believe that after all that time, she'd forgotten that. In her new iron shell and hardened demeanour, she'd lost hold of the girl with the braid that sung songs and wrote poetry. And the girl who loved her older sister more than anything. She'd lost that once she started to drown in the bitterness, and the apparent abandonment she thought she'd experienced after being shot had made it worse. Those signs had been the catalyst, she realised. The spark that set her off and forced her to change. Opened the floodgates and let the water in. She'd almost drowned. Drowned in a sea of her own rage. Resentment eventually bred hatred, and Beth was horrified to realise that she'd almost been consumed by her own insecurities.

 _I'm falling. I'm falling, and I'll eventually hit the ground and shatter into a million tiny pieces of marine spark._ _Maybe I'll never hit the ground. Maybe I'll just keep falling._

 _Maybe I've been falling since the start._

She'd already fallen and hit the bottom a long time ago, but she hadn't tried to pull herself back _up_ once.

"Beth—"

"I forgot that," she cut her off. Not sharply or cruelly, but she did cut her off. "I forgot that was the first thing I felt. I'd just seen Daddy _murdered_ in front of my eyes, I had no idea where anyone was, and I was stuck with the ever-talkative Daryl Dixon as my lone companion. So when I saw that sign, when I knew you were alright, it made me realise . . ."

 _Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith_.

She looked at Maggie's face and saw tears shining in her big green eyes. She felt them growing in her own too and repressed a huge shudder as she gripped Maggie's arm tight and felt her lips shaking.

"Daddy was right . . ." she breathed, ". . . We just had to believe."

 _Believe in that._

Edwards got it now too.

Reaching to take Beth's hands in her own, Maggie lifted them up and pressed her lips to Beth's bruised and battered knuckles. The tears escaped her eyes when she closed them and slid down her hollow cheeks, and Beth felt Maggie mouthing those two words she wouldn't stop saying against her hands.

 _I'm sorry, I'm sorry._

 _I'm sorry too._

They were out on the street for a while, long enough for the sun to begin its descent down from the sky, and eventually, Glenn and Daryl came and found them.

Sharing one more prized smile, the two of them parted and Maggie allowed Glenn to lead her away carefully in the direction of the infirmary, leaving Beth there in the desaturated twilight with her former sole traveling companion. Beth tilted her head up to regard Daryl's silent but soulful expression, and she smiled at him. His hair was darker and longer than she'd ever seen it, painting him in the image of a shadow with his midnight clothes and ghostly tanned skin, and he looked at her like he had something waiting on the tip of his tongue that he wanted to say. When he said nothing, she simply smiled again and extended her hand, which he stared at bewilderedly. Eventually, he took it with caution, and she squeezed his large fingers then started walking down the gradually dimming street with him.

A street lamp flared to life and illuminated the passage with a warm yellow glow, and his hand tightened in hers, making her lips curve with traces of a tiny smile.

"C'mon," he said quietly in that gritty rasp of his, "There's someone who wants to see ya."

She blinked.

"Who?"

Instead of answering, he merely flashed her that familiar wry smirk, and led her down the street towards one of the large white houses at the end. And finally, in the fullness of time, things started to feel all right again.

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

And there we shall leave it, at least for now. Thanks so much for reading and don't forget to review!

(Notice how I stressed that noah is _missing_ and not _dead_ like he is in the show... I wonder why I did that...) Au revoir my little biscuits~


	47. The Ark

**Author's Corner**

Aloha little biscuits I am back! Have you missed me causing you suffering?

At last, my exams are over and I'm free to write and write as much as I please, which is what I'm going to do this summer to combat worrying over the inevitable failure I'll discover on results day. Some other good news is that I'm also writing a book! I have several chapters already written and I'm pretty excited to get it all finished and out there (if anyone will even buy it lmao rip). If anyone's interested I'll keep them updated.

Thank you so so much for the lovely reviews, please keep them coming! And without further ado, here you go: the next instalment of the story!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

It was cold when Noah awoke to the smell of dampness—a putrid scent of rotting that invaded his nostrils and forced open his eyelids.

It was dark where he was. Dark and cold, with that foul stench lingering in the air like a poison. Throat dry and temples pounding, he blinked to try and adjust his vision to the darkness, but still, he saw nothing. Compelling himself to stay calm, he recollected the most recent of his memories in order to find an answer to his current situation.

He'd been with Glenn and the others on a supply run when the rotters came.

A cluster of them had forced him and Glenn into a set of rotating doors, but they weren't enough to keep their filthy decomposing hands from reaching him. They yanked him through the doors, his hand slipping out of Glenn's as he was hauled, and he remembered the man's bloodcurdling scream as he was vigorously wrenched from his grasp. Noah remembered fighting them off, somehow, and running deeper into the department store. He hadn't seen Glenn after that, in fact, he hadn't seen anyone. He didn't remember much after that, but he assumed that he must have passed out and ended up sprawled out on the floor here.

He stood up, legs unsteady and the pounding in his temples increasing in pain and intensity. He listened for the unmistakable sounds of the dead but found none, which he found strange.

Still too dark for him to see, he planted his palms against the wall beside him and used it to feel his way across the room. He reached down to his hip for his gun as he was doing it, and was dismayed to find it missing. Now he was alone in the dark without a weapon. Not that he'd ever been much good with a gun, his father having done most of that when they went searching for his uncle until he was captured by the Grady Officers and his dad was left behind to die. That had been a whole year ago, and the first time he'd seen someone fire a gun after that was Beth.

He winced at that specific memory and he continued to feel his way around the room in search of an exit.

 _Now I just need Noah._

He'd only escaped because of her, but in order to set her free, he had to revoke his own freedom first. Which he was willing to do, he owed her that much and more, but then she went and stood before Dawn with those glacial, steely eyes of hers, simmering with quiet rage . . .

 _I get it now._

Noah didn't understand what she'd been trying to do, but he was certain that she hadn't intended to end up like _that_.

Red. Fallen. Statuesque.

 _So_ much red.

His hand connected with a handle of sorts, which he turned to open a door that led to another unknown vicinity. He entered it with a throbbing head and a heart that felt like it was weighed down with lead.

He should have saved her.

He couldn't stop thinking about it. Thinking about his failure.

He should have _saved_ her. She saved him but he couldn't save her. And the worst part was that he couldn't even say that he tried because he'd just stood idly by as she walked right up to Dawn with that defiant predator-like stride, and simply watched as the gun was fired and the bullet tore right through the top of her head.

Swallowing the bile swiftly rising in his throat, he staggered on, trying to ignore the images of blonde streaked with red that swum around in his head like hungry sharks. After wandering in the dark aimlessly for so long, he finally reached what felt like a set of double doors, so he pushed the handles and found himself out in the harsh sunlight at last.

His vision adjusting to the harsh contrast in light, he tried to figure out where he was, and spotted a metal ladder leading up the side of a brick wall. He climbed it carefully, his limp making it immensely difficult. Once at the top, he shifted towards the edge to get a look at the scenery.

He was still where he'd been before, the hardware store stretching out below, but there were no traces of Glenn and the others. The truck wasn't visible either, which made his heart sink even more.

Had they . . . left without him?

They must have, he concluded. There was no way from Glenn's perspective that he could have survived the ordeal, so of course, there was no reason for them to stick around waiting for him. They would be long gone now, probably all the way back in Alexandria by now judging by how the sun was beginning to descend in the sky behind him.

He felt a pang of hurt, despite the abandonment being in no way intentional. A sense of helpless solitude, like the kind he'd felt when he was captured and held in the prison of Grady Memorial Hospital. What was he supposed to do now? Could he make it back to Alexandria on his own? Did he remember the way? He felt like it was a lost cause, but wasn't everything these days?

Beth crept into his thoughts again.

The same thing they'd done to her, they'd done to him.

When the herd came crashing through Atlanta, the moment before they all split up was the last time he'd ever seen her—broken and bloody—hanging pathetically from Daryl's arms. Noah remembered Maggie's screams as she begged not to be parted with what was left of her sister, and then they disappeared into the abyss of monsters as he and the others ran.

It felt like _he_ killed her, and Maggie's _What've you done!?_ to Daryl and Abraham when they came back from that infested city without her body cradled in their arms tore through him.

When Abraham admitted that he'd left her in the back of a car of all things, he felt Maggie's sheer rage . . . and then she was striking Abraham with her raw fists relentlessly, like his huge size compared to her was nothing. Noah had wanted to go back to Atlanta with her and Daryl to search for what was left of Beth, but they left without him and came back with nothing.

That was what he was now.

Nothing.

He wandered aimlessly over the roof in the direction he thought Alexandria was, but came face to face with a hideous creature unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

It was a rotter, undoubtedly, only this one was warped and swift in its movements, and soon it had him pinned to the ground with its jaws opened wide, ready to consume him whole. Perhaps this was how it went with Rick Grimes and his group? They welcomed you into their unit, forged you into a weapon, then left you behind to die if you weren't strong enough.

He accepted that fate and waited for the end to finally come.

"COVER YOUR FACE!"

More focused on the monstrously deformed rotter about to tear into his throat, Noah's brain almost failed to register the sudden words, but obeyed the instruction out of pure derangement.

A loud powerful blast shot through the area suddenly and something sticky and clumpy fell onto his front and the hands that covered his face. The rotter gave a final distorted screech before slumping against him, dead, and slowly he removed his hands from his face. The grotesque chunky sensation he'd felt was the rotter's brains, blown apart and spooled all over him. He yelped and shot up, swatting the bloody clumps off his body and panting heavily at his near-death experience. He almost forgot about the unknown voice that saved him from swallowing an undead's face until it spoke again.

"Jeeee _sus_!" it spoke, "I just saved your damn life, boy!"

Noah looked up and saw a man standing over him and the creature's fallen corpse, a giant rifle in his hand and a huge grin plastered onto his face. He had dark hair and a thick moustache similar to Abraham's, only this man's was dark and uncannily trimmed in a neat fashion. He laughed at Noah's staring and lowered his weapon.

"Don't I get a thank you or nothin'?" he asked, grin still ear-splitting.

Noah scrambled to his feet, still wiping rotter remains off himself, "Uh, yes, thank you. I . . . Thank you."

"Much better. Common courtesy. People forget that, you see, they forget their manners. But a simple thank you can go a long way in this world."

Noah stared disbelievingly at the stranger, wondering who on earth he was and why he'd saved him, but his mouth wouldn't open for him to be able to ask.

The man stared at him in return, eyes raking up and down his bloody form, and eventually, his brows furred and his mouth twisted into a puzzled frown.

"Why're you out up here alone?" he asked, "Are your folks nearby?"

It felt like a stab to the stomach.

"A man would have to be stupid to go it alone now. Safety in numbers and all. So where are they? Or are you actually stupid enough to be goin' it alone even with the world so gone to shit?"

"I . . . I'm alone."

"What, for real?"

Though it wasn't exactly a lie, Noah still felt like he had to conceal the group's whereabouts from this stranger. Even if they'd left him behind, he wouldn't ever endanger them.

He would always protect them because he couldn't protect _Beth_ , and this was the only way he could make it right for her.

"Yeah," he said, "I've been alone for a while now. I was left behind."

The stranger's frown disappeared and his brow untightened. "Oh really? Shit. That's rough, kid." Noah wondered if he was convincing enough, since he didn't exactly look like he'd been living in the wilderness for months, but the man seemed to believe his claim.

"So what're you gonna do now? Got a destination or something in mind?"

"I . . ."

Noah thought of Richmond, of the traces of destruction and havoc he witnessed, then of Alexandria, and how he absolutely had to protect that place and the people inside. Even if they had left him behind under the impression that he was dead.

". . . No." he said eventually, "There's nothing left for me."

The stranger pondered over that for a while, tapping his foot in apparent thought, before another smile spread out across his face.

"I got an idea," he declared, and Noah's palms began to grow sweaty with anxiety. "What if you came back with me? I come from a community that's always accepting newcomers. Of course, you'd have to work to earn your keep and move up in rank, but still, s'better than being stuck out here alone to fend for yourself, right?"

Noah blinked at the offer and shifted his gaze to the ground.

Could he do that? Could he accept this stranger's offer? He didn't know him, so there was no reason to trust him, but he'd saved his life. And Alexandria could any number of miles away in any direction. Maybe this was his best chance of staying alive? As well as keeping Rick and the others off the radar if this man truly turned out to be a threat.

"So . . . What'd you say?" the man asked, grin still in place.

". . . All right," Noah agreed, "I'll come with you."

"That's the spirit, boy! You made the right choice, you'll see. We can always use the extra hand these days. So many people come and go." There was something else hinted in his words, but Noah thought it best not to question what. "The name's Simon, by the way. Feel free to use it."

"I'm Noah."

"Alright then, Noah, let's get outta here!"

They walked along the rooftop until they reached the ladder and clambered down it to Simon's truck, which held a surprising number of crates and artillery. There was more food and guns in the back of that truck than Noah had seen in a long time, but still, he didn't question it. Simon indicated to the passenger seat, then climbed into the driver's seat to start up the vehicle.

Before they set out, however, Simon said one sentence that was seemingly insignificant sentence at the time, yet exceedingly alarming if Noah had been aware of what was to conspire next.

"Home is called _The Sanctuary_ , an' I think you're gonna like it there."

.

.

Beth followed Daryl along the streets of Alexandria in silence until they reached a particular house that made him stop.

He stared at the doorway for a while, expression laced with a kind of hidden excitement, before turning to her and flashing a tiny grin. She returned the smile and let him lead her up onto the porch and through the door. Inside the house was clean and pristine like the rest of the Zone, and Beth studied its contents as she followed Daryl across the carpets. There were remnants of a past life in the details of the house—books and picture frames and ornaments. There were people in the photographs she didn't recognise, reminders of the old world, and a Nirvana poster was taped on the wall above a selection of carefully hand-painted army figurines.

She also noticed an open box filled with baby toys.

Rattles, bouncing balls, and stuffed animals sat poking out and filled Beth with a sadness that hadn't left her since she'd fled the prison, and the memory of an empty carrier seat soaked in blood.

She forced her gaze away from the box and followed Daryl towards the staircase leading to the upstairs. He led her up the soft carpeted stairs, still not saying a word, but she could feel the light giddiness radiating off him, and she wondered just possibly what he was trying to show her. They walked across the soft footing of the upstairs and stopped at one of the doors.

Daryl let go of her hand then and seemed to inhale deeply, before reaching for the door handle.

He turned to her then and spoke quietly, "Wait here a sec, ok?"

She nodded and watched him enter the room. The door swung slightly shut and she was left there in the upstairs hallway. She glanced around at the small hanging paintings on the walls, then studied the elaborate cracks in the walls, the faint sound of voices from the room washing into her ears like gentle waves. She looked down at her feet then, now bare and no longer clad in her cowboy boots or thick socks. The carpet felt soft and fleecy beneath them and she wiggled her toes, enjoying the simple warmth and comfort. Her lips curved into a smile at the sensation and she allowed her eyelids to drift closed as the gentle atmosphere filled her senses . . .

She imagined she was back home on the farm, with its patterned walls and furry carpets, where the only sounds were the faint muffled chatter from the other rooms and the distant whinnying of the horses.

If she imagined hard enough, the voices in the other room were Maggie and her mama, sorting and folding the laundry to place in the drawers. Daddy would be down in the stables, probably tending to the newly born calves, and then she would feel Shawn's hand on her shoulder, challenging her to a race in the fields. Nelly had never been the fastest of horses, but she had more stamina than Cinnamon, which guaranteed her to win every time. After that, Daddy would teach them how to plant tomatoes, and they'd stay in the vegetable patches until the sun began to descend. Then their mama would call all of them in for dinner, and then she, Maggie and Shawn would fall asleep on the couch in the front room after arguing over which one of them could do the best Elvis impersonation.

Beth didn't realise that she was crying until she opened her eyes and felt thick warm beads rolling down her cheeks. She wiped them away with her hands and tried to hold in a sniffle caused by a stinging in her heart.

The door opened again then and she frantically scrubbed at her eyes to eliminate any evidence of tears.

Daryl peered out and gave her a nod, then waited for her to follow him in. She forced a watery smile and followed him into the room. The room was small and painted yellow, decorated with bookshelves and a single window that was open allowing in a gentle breeze. Beth looked around until her eyes fell onto _Carl_ , standing just some ways from Daryl, who was staring at her with wide . . . _one_ wide eye.

She exhaled suddenly, almost not recognising him underneath all that hair and bandage, but the way his lone eye glimmered and his mouth opened slowly at the sight of her proved it truly was Carl Grimes.

"Oh my god," he uttered, and her breath left her at the sound of his voice.

He stepped forward swiftly and threw his arms around her, and she almost toppled at the strength of his action. He squeezed her tightly and her arms came up to wind around his waist. He was much taller than he had been the last time she'd seen him, practically towering over her now, and she caught Daryl grinning from over his shoulder.

Her face bled into a huge smile and she hugged Carl tighter, rubbing a hand up and down his back when she felt him shivering faintly.

Eventually, he pulled away and beamed his radiant smile directly at her, and she lifted her hands to hover above the bandage covering his right eye. "What . . . ?" she whispered, "What happened?"

"Same as you," he answered, "We're both in the same boat now."

A breathy laugh tore out of her throat at that and she shook her head, "We were already in the same boat, it happened to you way before me."

She remembered him hanging still in Rick's arms as he ran towards their farm. The first time she'd seen them—a bullet torn through Carl's stomach as his dad pleaded for them to save him. What would have happened if they hadn't, she wondered? What if they'd just turned them away and never granted them shelter? Would they all still be alive now, or would they still have died regardless?

"I thought you were dead," Carl whispered, his voice deeper than she remembered, "I thought you—I saw . . . Everybody . . . I thought you were dead."

Beth's smile gained an element of sadness and she adjusted his hat. "Shh," she hummed, "It's all right. It's gonna be all right . . . It will."

He nodded, his single eye filling with tears, and she squeezed his shoulder. He smiled again before glancing at Daryl, who gave him a nod. He then turned and reached for something in the cot behind him, making Beth stand on her tiptoes and crane her head to try and see better.

But then he turned around, and suddenly it felt like her knees would give way.

"Here's who wanted to see you," he smiled, "Say hi, Judith."

Beth thought she felt her jaw physically drop, but she wasn't one hundred percent sure because it also felt like she'd just left her body. Because that _name_ on his lips, hearing it again, and when she drifted her gaze down she saw . . .

Judith's eyes bore into her as she sat cradled in Carl's arms—big and brown now, unlike the sharp blue they once were. Her hair was longer and fluffier, and her limbs were larger and stronger. She stared at Beth, one hand fisted in Carl's shirt, and opened her mouth to stuff her other hand into it.

Beth started to tremble, shivers flooding down her spine and legs, and her arms unintentionally reached out to hover just in front of her, partly in beckoning for the baby, and partly as a means of defence from . . . _something_. Her hands quaked and she opened her mouth to speak, and Carl moved closer so that her fingers were almost touching Judith.

Judith reached out then with the hand that had been holding Carl's shirt, and her fingers closed around Beth's thumb. No one said anything, out of some hidden fear, and finally, Judith opened her mouth to release a loud gurgling sound. She bounced in Carl's arms and flashed a giant toothy grin, and Beth glanced over at Daryl for some kind of answer. He only smiled. Licking her dry lips, she reached out slowly and watched as Carl carefully deposited the baby into her arms, and then Judith did the rest.

She propped her feet around Beth's hips and used her like a chair, then held onto her front with her tiny hands. Beth pulled her up slightly to stop her from falling, and suddenly Judith's head was against her chest. She was soft and warm, like the carpet against her feet, and she smelled like a pile of fresh blankets. She gurgled again, the sound almost like a giggle this time, and flopped suddenly like a fish, resting against her.

Beth felt herself wanting to cry again, and a thick lump began to form in her throat.

This couldn't be real, she decided. None of it could be real. The Safe Zone, Maggie, Daryl, _Judith_ . . . It couldn't be real.

She was dead, she decided. She had to be. She must have died in the explosion at The Sanctuary, or by the bullet, because _this_ . . . this . . .

"I . . ." she started to whimper, head spinning violently, "I can't . . . I—"

She didn't deserve any of this.

Daryl sensed the wrongness of her behaviour and snatched Judith from her, and Beth felt her legs shaking. She met his eyes, then Carl's panicked ones, and then Judith's. It was all wrong. It wasn't real. It wasn't.

None of it was real.

"Beth?" Daryl called.

She wanted to run.

" _Beth_? Y'all right?"

She wanted to run and run and run and crawl right back into the trunk of that car. She wanted to close the lid, reopen up the wound in her head, and then drown in a river of crimson waves.

When would it be over? When would everything finally be over? She'd thought she was in Hell when she woke up, and she'd been right. It was never going to be over. She was never going to _escape_ . . .

But then something happened.

Suddenly, Judith reached out and clasped Beth's hand.

Beth jumped at the contact then stopped, staring at the tiny hand grasping her own. She stared at the baby, whose brown-green eyes were filled with a curious yet naively concerned youth.

Beth was startled.

She'd never seen that look in Judith's eyes before.

Daryl and Carl were deadly silent, and Beth and Judith maintained their eye lock. Judith's fingers weren't exactly tight around Beth's, but they weren't about to let go. She lifted her other hand then and waved it, as if asking to be picked up again. Beth couldn't understand it because it wasn't possible that Judith _remembered_ her. It had been so long ago the last time she'd seen her . . . She couldn't possibly remember her face, or voice, or hands . . .

She stared for a while longer, then cautiously moved to take Judith back from Daryl's arms. He passed her to her carefully, ensuring she was fully pressed against Beth's front before letting go, and Beth lowered her head so that her cheek was laid against the velvety top of Judith's hair. She breathed her in, smelling that familiar warm scent, and felt her trembling begin to cease.

She could feel Judith's heart beating against her chest. A gentle and steady thrum. A reminder that, despite it all, she was alive.

And then Beth remembered that her own heart was beating too.

"Beth?" Daryl called once more, softer this time, and she looked up from Judith's head to stare into his eyes.

There was a sadness in them. A glimmer of guilt, and she wondered if maybe he thought he was to blame for her hurting.

Of course, he did.

He always blamed himself.

"I'm . . . okay," she assured him, and Carl stared at her worriedly. "I am," she repeated, "Sometimes I'm not, but I'm okay now. I promise . . . You don't have to keep blaming yourself."

Daryl's eyebrows rose a little at that, then he looked down and stared at his feet. Carl turned to him sadly, the part of his face that wasn't covered revealing his empathy, and the broken pieces of Beth's heart ached. _It's not your fault_ , she wanted to say as he chewed on the inside of his cheek. _It's not. I wouldn't be here at all if it wasn't for you._

She rubbed a hand along Judith's back and planted a tender kiss to the crown of her soft head.

 _Neither would she_.

Neither would any of them, actually. He'd saved everyone still standing now, but all he could see were the ones he hadn't been able to save.

"It's ok to not be ok all the time," Carl said, and he was right.

It was okay. It _was_.

It was the one thing that made them different from the monsters.

.

.

Noah saw the great building structure growing on the horizon from the front window of Simon's truck, and felt his optimism shrinking the closer they drove.

The one building became build _ings_ , and it seemed to grow ever larger as they approached. Once they arrived at the front gates of what looked to be a large factory, smoke pumping out through the cooling towers in the background, Noah knew that he wouldn't be able to escape from this place no matter how hard he tried.

There were walkers chained to posts outside the fences as a means of defence, and there several elaborate traps littered about to prevent anyone from entering or leaving without permission. He wondered what kind of a place this was that he'd stumbled right into, and if Simon had been telling the complete truth when he'd said it was a safe community.

The gates opened and they drove in. Noah watched them close behind them and suddenly gained the feeling of claustrophobia, and Simon got out of the truck. When Noah didn't, he walked around to the other side of the vehicle and opened the door for him, gesturing for him to get out. He did, but the feeling of dread only continued to grow, and Simon planted a hand firmly on his shoulder and gazed up at the factory buildings.

"What'd you think?" he asked, "Pretty damn impressive, huh?"

Noah swallowed.

"Yeah. It's pretty impressive."

Simon sniggered, then made his way towards the door leading into the building. Some men had appeared suddenly and were unloading the truck, flashing him strange looks. Simon waved for Noah to follow him, and folded his arms across his chest as he proclaimed . . .

"Come along, Noah, welcome to your Ark."

 **.**

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

SO DID Y'ALL EXPECT NOAH'S ASS TO SHOW UP OR NOT HAHA LIKE I'D KILL MY BOY? Let me know what you thought of the chapter and as always if you have any questions feel free to message me on here or just drop an ask in my tumblr. Thanks for readiiing~

(please review i need validation and attention)


	48. Ghosts among us

**Author's Corner**

Since you had to wait so long whilst this fic was on hiatus, I thought that I'd give you another chapter quicker than usual to reduce the Suffering. Thanks for all the great reviews to the last chapter! They were lovely to come back to, so thank you all for that. X

Just a quick warning (and so avery doesn't call me a sadist again rip), these next chapters will deal with depression, PTSD, and past suicidal tendencies. Regardless of being reunited with Rick and company, Beth hasn't been magically cured from her psychological struggles, in fact in a way they've become heightened because now she nothing to distract herself like she did whilst they were on the run and fighting. Graphic scenes concerning those struggles will crop every now and then, but remember whilst you're reading that this story is also about healing. Beth has endured terrible things, and the theme I'm trying to explore in this fic is what the show also explores, which is whether or not you get to come back from those terrible things.

Along with that, expect more meaningful encounters between team family and the members of the grady group. Humanity is also a huge part of this story which is why I hold basic human love and interaction to be so important in writing, because it is something that is very real. The love (familial, platonic, romantic, etc.) the characters feel for each other is what makes the walking dead so rich to me, because it's that love that makes them fight so hard for each other. This might be a Beth centric story, but I still want to highlight that as I write.

So, rambling aside, here's another chapter! Don't forget to review :D

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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 **.**

It was dark wherever Beth was. Dark and lifeless and cold. It felt like all the light had been sucked out of the world and she was standing in the hopeless void that had been left behind. It was a terrible feeling; a sense of dreadful foreboding that had taken root deep in her bones and made her soul whimper with warning.

 _Alone._

She turned around, movements disjointed and her mind distant. Every turn she made felt like she was spinning endlessly without control and the weight on her heart increased in pressure.

"I'm surprised you made it this far."

A voice called out from somewhere in the black and Beth spun again in search of the speaker.

"People don't usually make it this far when they're alone."

 _Alone. Alone._

 _I am alone._

Head frantically whipping back and forth amongst the darkness, Beth's breathing grew heavy and she felt her knees begin to weaken. There was something about the voice she recognised, and the thing that she recognised _disturbed_ her because . . . it sounded exactly like her _own_ voice.

"Over here, you pathetic little _girl_."

With one final spin, Beth gasped and almost fell backwards when she came face to face with _herself_.

It was like she was staring into a mirror and her reflection was staring right back. Only this reflection had an expression of its own, and a cruel vocabulary it wasn't afraid to use.

The girl with her face stared at her—head tilting slowly to take her in—and Beth felt her shoulders shaking. After several moments of staring that felt blurred and unnatural in her mind, the reflection's eyes darkened and she opened her mouth to speak . . .

"You're going to die," she said.

"You're not real," Beth breathed in response.

"I'm as real as you are. You're just too scared to open your eyes and accept it. You're so pathetic. No wonder they left you behind an' never came back."

That last remark felt like a stab in Beth's ribcage.

"Ever wonder?" the spectre continued, "All those sad looks? All those empty apologies? . . . They feel guilty. Guilty for what they did. Not for leavin' you, oh no, they feel guilty because they managed to _forget_ about you and carry on livin' without what they did to you bothering them. That's the real sad thing about it all. You became just another name on the list to them. Another smudged an' faded scribble . . . They moved on. And left you behind in the dust."

 _They could stop feeling bad for not searching for you and move on with each of their lives._

"You might think you matter one minute, but after you're dead an' gone . . . You're _nothin'_. Nothin' at all."

Swallowing thickly, she attempted to steady herself and confront the mirror image in front of her.

". . . You don't know _anything_ ," she spat.

The mirror's brows quirked and her lips twisted into a grin. "I don't, huh?"

The dark of the abyss seemed to expand at the chill of her words, and Beth felt the cold creeping beneath her skin and caressing her with its coarse, clammy fingers.

"Look what they did to you," the reflection said, and a physical presence found its way onto Beth's left shoulder.

She tilted her head and screamed at the sight of a girl covered in blood.

A girl with red-streaked blonde hair, scars lined across her face, and white vacant eyes that seemed to scream with a silent rage of some kind. Rivers of dark red blood poured down her face from the crater at the top of her skull and painted her mouth so that when she smiled—a sad, lonely smile—her teeth shone like rubies. She had her beat-up hand placed on Beth's shoulder, and as Beth looked down she saw that the girl's arm was tattooed with vicious knife slashes, just like the one she'd made with the shard of broken mirror. They were dripping blood and Beth almost swore there were _creatures_ crawling out from inside the wounds, desperate to get out of the toxicity that was her, and into the clean air.

Beth screamed again, shoving away the second reflection's hand and running away into the dark. She ran for what felt like both seconds and an eternity, before collapsing to her knees and sobbing violently. The wound in her head throbbed, like a pulse hammering away. A constant reminder of what had torn through her brain and taken something from her as it left.

 _It's pointless, it's pointless._

Holding up her arm to stare at the white risen line on the inside of her wrist, she felt herself shaking with fear and torment.

 _It's all so pointless._

The scar suddenly began to feel very itchy, and before she could think otherwise she lunged at her wrist with her right hand and clawed at it. Although her daddy had stitched it up thoroughly and it had been healed for a while, the wound opened almost instantly, and she tried desperately to dig the horrendous parasitic creatures out of her flesh.

"Just look at you. _Pathetic_."

She dragged her gaze up, breath coming out in pants and her ears filled with a deafening ringing.

The first mirror figure was standing before her, staring down with a stoic expression, and the scars on her face cut Beth's vision like blades. Her wrist was suddenly no longer bleeding, and when she attempted to get up she simply toppled and fell back down.

The reflection leaned down so that she was level with her, and leaned in close so that her breath fanned against Beth's ear.

"You should let me take control," she breathed, voice low and filled with troves of promises.

"What do you mean?" Beth whispered.

"Let me _help_ you . . . You can't do it by yourself. You've proved that from the start. Whenever you've been in trouble, I was always there, ready to do whatever it was you couldn't. Fight, run, _kill_ . . . I've been there through it all. I'm the only one you can count on."

A stranger wearing her face.

"Let me help," she continued to whisper, her lips brushing against the lobe of Beth's ear, "Let me stop the hurtin'. Let me take care of everythin' that makes you bleed . . . You might be alone with _them_ , but you'll never be alone with _me_."

They'd left her behind.

But . . . no. That wasn't what happened.

That wasn't _right_.

This was just her subconsciousness creeping into her mind and filling her heart with venom.

 _Nightmares_. Beth remembered when she'd awoken on the hospital tray with a thousand tubes fastened into her, awoken from a nightmare just like this. Nightmares were funny, she'd thought. They shook your unconscious mind to the brink of sheer terror, filling you with fear, and then you woke up. No matter how horrible it was, no matter how terrible it made you feel . . .

You always woke up.

". . . You . . . will never understand." Beth breathed, and the mirror stared at her, eyes vacant.

There was still something worth waking _up_ to.

"You think that you have to be a certain way to survive," she said, "That you have to be hard and ruthless and cruel. But you're wrong. You don't have to kill everyone and everything. You don't have to kill anyone at all. What you do have to do, what you absolutely _have_ to do . . . is remember who you are."

 _You saved me._

 _You might not realise it, but you saved everyone._

The reflection appeared irritated and distant, but Beth steeled herself and whispered one final statement.

"That's how you save people."

She heard light footsteps behind her then, and tilted her head to see a figure approaching from the shadows.

It was the other girl with her face again. Only this time she wasn't covered in blood or scars or slices.

Her skin was unblemished and her hair shone in the darkness like moonlight. Her eyes were soft and bright and she had her hands clasped behind her back. Gone was the gaping hole in her head, for in its place was a single yellow flower. She gazed down at Beth with a gentle expression, a complete juxtaposition of the other reflection, and Beth smiled back.

"This is who you are," the girl said gently, reaching out a hand for her to take, "Right until the end. No one can take away who you choose to be . . . Not even yourself."

She was addressing the other reflection, but when Beth turned to looked back she was gone. Like a bad dream. Turning back to the girl with sunshine hair and the gentle smile, she blinked when the girl moved to whisper something in her ear.

" _Trust who you are_."

And then she woke up.

.

.

The ferocity of Beth's abrupt awakening jolted the entire bed as she shot up and sat panting heavily, coated in a heavy cold sweat.

Maggie awoke instantly and rose from her pillow, sitting in the bed beside Beth and studying her with huge spooked eyes.

"Beth!?" she cried, reaching to hold her by the shoulders, "Beth, are you okay? What happened? What's wrong?"

Beth gasped violently, choking on air, and Maggie rubbed her shoulders and pulled her into her chest. She held her against her, stroking her arms then her back then her hair. Gradually Beth's gasps quietened and her breathing evened out as she had her face pressed into her sister's neck, and she exhaled deeply when she stroked the back of her head in a soothing rhythm.

"Beth . . ." she whispered, and Beth lifted her head slightly, still tucked in her soft embrace.

"It's all right," she whispered back, "I just had a bad dream."

"You wanna talk about it?"

Beth shook her head.

Maggie didn't press for more and instead just rubbed Beth's shoulders with her palms again. Beth closed her eyes and imagined the life growing inside her sister's belly. Warm, growing, fluttering, like a baby bird. Her hands ghosted across the fabric covering Maggie's stomach, feeling for any signs of swelling, but her tummy was as flat as it always had been.

She opened her eyes and looked at the pale risen line on the inside of her wrist. The wound was closed now and there were no creatures trying to claw out of it, but she could still feel a certain pain there.

A memory of pain.

Maggie saw her staring at it and picked up her wrist, stroking the scar lightly with her thumb. She smiled against Beth's brow and then reached over for something on the bedside table.

It was a black marker pen.

She unscrewed the lid and brought the tip to Beth's wrist, then began to draw. Beth blinked at the sensation of the pen tip moving across her skin, and her eyes widened when Maggie finished whatever she was drawing and moved her hand away.

It was a word she'd written.

Just one word, spelled out across the length of the scar, which read . . .

 _ALIVE_.

Beth's vision started to wobble and she sat up properly to study the word. _Alive_. Inked in thick black letters across the very spot she'd tried to kill herself. _Alive_ . . .

Maggie smiled when she looked back up at her, then lifted the wrist and planted a single kiss on top of the scar. Beth felt her heart swelling and she closed her fingers around Maggie's. She smiled faintly and brushed a finger across the word on her wrist. The reminder. The word she kept forgetting the definition of.

"We're not dead," Maggie whispered, lifting her free hand to touch the cotton headband Beth was using to cover the scar on her head.

". . . We'll deal with it . . . right?"

"We don't have to just deal with it. Not anymore. Everythin' we've done, we're still here after all of it. We've lost people, but we're still here . . . We get to live."

 _We're still alive._

 _Alive._

.

.

Beth waited until Maggie had fallen asleep again before getting up.

She climbed out from underneath all the covers carefully and crept across the room to get her boots. She glanced at the word on her wrist again and then over at Maggie, then left the room silently and closed the door. She passed the room Glenn was asleep in on her way to the stairs and stopped to study him momentarily through the open doorway.

 _He's going to be a dad_ , she thought to herself. _He's going to be a dad to his and Maggie's child._

She wondered if he thought about Hershel regarding that topic, who believed all along that he could become the man he was today. She also wondered if Glenn even knew how far he'd come, and if he knew that their daddy would be so proud of him.

He had already been proud of him.

Her lips curved into a faint smile and she shoved on her boots, making her way down the stairs and out of the front door silently. She jogged down the streets in the direction of where she thought Rick's house was and stopped when she reached it.

She stared at the structure before her, painted white with the yellow post-box at the front of the porch, and she felt overwhelmed again. But she knew she had to make it right. Had to fix the way she'd left things with Judith, so she swallowed and made her way up the porch steps.

The door was open, like every door apparently was in Alexandria, so she snuck in quietly and closed it behind her. It was darker inside than it was outside, but the sliver of light from the crescent moon poured in through one of the windows and provided her with some light. She climbed the very stairs she'd climbed earlier that day with Daryl, feeling oddly safer in the darkness, and made her way towards Judith's room. She stopped at the door with flowers and butterflies taped to it and pondered over her actions, then opened the door carefully before she could flee.

Judith wasn't asleep.

She was standing up in her cot, both hands on the bars, and her eyes moved to Beth when she entered. Beth gave her a smile and she tilted her head, raising a hand to her mouth and chewing on her knuckles.

Beth walked towards the cradle and reached in to pick her up. Judith gurgled as Beth secured her in her arms and clapped her hands, prompting a gentle _shh_ from Beth as she carried her downstairs to the front living room. She sat down on one of the armchairs and placed Judith carefully in her lap, then took her tiny hands in her own.

She remembered all her time with Judith, but suddenly had no idea what to do.

How had she taken care of a baby? How had she kept her entertained?

She had the memories, all the love and the laughter and the sleepless nights, but she'd lost all the knowledge.

Fortunately, Judith played along with her and wriggled in her lap, hands waving and pointing towards the box of toys by the chair. Beth reached down and withdrew a rattle, which she shook experimentally, and Judith giggled. Placing the rattle down in her lap in front of Judith, she reached and grabbed a small blue ball and a stuffed rabbit. Judith picked each one up and shook them, seemingly testing for something, then she put them back down and looked at Beth . . . expectantly.

"What's wrong?" Beth asked, keeping her voice down so not to wake Rick and Carl, "Doncha like rabbits?"

Judith wriggled again and grasped Beth's hands.

"Is it the ball? You never really liked blue, you were always more of a red girl . . ."

An idea formed in her head then and she stood up, Judith cradled against her chest as she made her way towards the kitchen. She flicked on the light switch, blinking to adjust to the sudden brightness, and Judith voiced a loud _ooooh_ at the removal of darkness. Balancing the baby against her hip, Beth opened some of the cupboards in search of what she was looking for, and laughed with disbelief when she spied a packet of red plastic cups in the corner of one.

Shaking her head, she pulled them out and took one of the cups, then held it before Judith to see how she would react.

She snatched it from her instantly and shook it around. Beth giggled with disbelief as Judith fastened her teeth to the rim of the cup, and closed the cupboard door. She moved to the sidebar and sat down on one of the chairs, placing Judith on the side to play with the plastic cup.

"I can't believe that even though you got a whole toybox to play with now, you're still playin' with these."

Judith only gurgled in response and bounced on the sidebar excitedly, waving the cup like it was the greatest creation mankind had ever made and demanding that Beth appreciate it.

She grinned, "I see it. It's real nice."

Judith burst into a fit of tinkling giggles and Beth was about to shush her again when a voice sounded from the doorway to the kitchen.

"I wondered who'd come in the dead of the night and stolen my daughter, but of course it'd be you."

Beth smiled as Rick gave Judith's head a loving stroke before walking towards the fridge and opening it. He dug around in there for something and eventually withdrew a carton of tomato juice, and downed a considerable amount of it.

She'd never seen him like that before, she realised then. With bed hair, casual clothes, and raiding the fridge in the middle of the night for a carton of tomato juice. He'd gained some weight, she noticed too, obviously from eating better, and he looked so much more relaxed than she remembered.

He looked _happy_ , actually. His posture was loose and a natural half-smile had permanently settled onto his face. He looked like a man who'd married a woman like Lori and raised a boy like Carl, in fact, perhaps he looked even happier than that.

She'd never seen him look like that before.

He put the carton back in the fridge and reached around for something else. Withdrawing a plastic container, he closed the fridge door and sat himself down opposite her on the sidebar. She saw that it was cold chicken when he opened the lid and watched as he took out a leg and started eating it.

She couldn't help the smile that grew on her face at watching him.

Judith stared at him and he returned her gaze, then she blew raspberries at him and wriggled where she sat.

"Cold chicken and tomato juice?" Beth teased, "That's a weird combination. She's judgin' you."

He smirked and took another bite. "She's eaten weirder," he said with a mouth full of chilled meat.

Beth smiled and tapped the red cup Judith was holding, causing her to giggle loudly and wave it around. Rick smiled at the sight and his eyes held a gleam of nostalgia. That expression was the one he used to wear whenever she passed him Judith or he walked by and gave her a warm pat on the shoulder.

She'd forgotten what that face looked like, so she stared at a mark on the granite of the sidebar and smiled gently.

"Did I wake Carl?" she asked, and Rick took another bite before answering.

"No, he can sleep through thunderstorms. Michonne woke up when I did but she went back to sleep."

Beth's brows rose at that in surprise before lowering again in a suspicious manner. " _Michonne_?" she noted, "What's she doing here?" When Rick simply kept eating, Beth's lips curved into a slight leer and she reached into the container for a piece of chicken. "Lotta spare houses here," she remarked, keeping her tone neutral, "What's she doin' bunkering here with you three?"

Lowering the chicken leg, Rick met her eyes and suddenly flashed a boyish grin. A face she'd _never_ seen him wear before.

She started to laugh. Quietly, so not to wake the rest of the house.

"I," he started, stroking Judith's arm as he spoke, "It was just her, Carl and me after the prison. The three of us were together for a while. Lookin' back, I guess that's when it started. Even though it didn't start officially until later."

Beth's grin was radiant.

"Everyone called it, y'know."

He seemed benumbed by that and she reached for another piece of chicken. "No you didn't," he argued.

She laughed again, "We _so_ did. Ask Maggie and Carol if you don't believe me."

He was wearing that atypical smile again and went back to eating. Beth smiled softly as she watched him, wondering how she had such a misunderstood image of him back then. He'd always been Mr. Grimes to her, even after she started calling him Rick. He'd always been the man that made the hard choices and kept them all safe, whether it was on a farm or in a prison or during a long winter on the road. He'd always been the man who fought The Governor and won.

But at the same time . . . he'd always been the desperate man who came running to their farm with his wounded son in his arms, begging them to save him.

"Rick . . ." she said quietly, ". . . I'm really happy for you."

He smiled at her then and clasped Judith's small hand.

"I'm happy you're back home."

 _Home_.

The word hadn't stopped swirling around in her head, and she still didn't know if this could ever truly be her home.

It was too soft. Too clean.

The thing about the prison was that its bars and cellblocks never made her think of the farm. This place—Alexandria—it wasn't like that. It reminded her too much of her old home, and she didn't know if she'd ever be able to let that go if she stayed here.

"Yeah," she just nodded, "Me too."

 _Alive_.

.

.

They moved back into the front living room eventually, all the chicken gone now, and Judith lay nestled in Beth's lap as she sat in the armchair, running a hand up and down her back slowly.

She thought of Lori as she looked at Judith, with her warm brown eyes and steadily darkening hair. Her cheeks were already beginning to lose their roundness and were growing sharper, like Lori's defined cheeks and jaw, and Beth held the baby slightly tighter at the image of her mother.

"I'm sorry about Noah," Rick said suddenly, and she looked up. He was sitting on the couch with a cushion stuffed behind him.

His eyes were shining with regret and remorse.

"Don't be," she shook her head, "It wasn't your fault."

 _Just because he's gone, doesn't mean he's really gone._

"Besides . . ." she added, remembering Edwards's words, "We don't know for sure if he's really dead. Glenn didn't see him die. He might be out there somewhere, trying to get back to us."

Rick's eyes grew sadder as he looked at her and she knew what he was thinking. She could see the _ALIVE_ on the inside of her wrist as she held Judith and she kept it in the forefront of her mind.

She'd made it, she was alive, so maybe Noah was too.

 _Even if you don't feel like it sometimes, you are. You're alive, Beth._

 _You're so alive._

Maybe.

"I'm sorry," Rick whispered finally, and Beth felt her hear begin to ache again, "I'm sorry we left you."

". . . You didn't have a choice."

"That doesn't make it right. Doesn't matter if it was just one of us that did it, we should'a gone back for you."

"Daryl and Maggie did," she reminded him, "But by then it was too late . . . Don't apologise. It wouldn't have made any difference and you know it."

"It might have."

She didn't know how to reply to that so she just sat there, Judith sleeping against her chest, her breathing even and pleasant. She wondered what would have happened if she'd just stayed in the back of that car for a little longer. Would Daryl and Maggie have found her? Would they have been able to save her? . . . Or would she have died in there long before they even got anywhere close?

"He wanted to save you."

She glanced back at him.

"He wanted to save you the most," he said, "I thought if anyone could do it, it was him. But it didn't matter. You're right, no one could'a saved you . . . No one except _you_."

She blinked slowly. " _Me_?"

"Yeah. You can try an' save someone, but only if they're willing to be saved. If you'd just stayed in that trunk you would'a been admitting defeat. In order to live, _you_ had to get out. Because only _you_ have the power to _live_."

Beth felt her throat constricting and she leaned back in the chair. She stared at the clock on the mantelpiece and watched its hands lurch forward and forward into a new second with every tick. That was the sound she woke up to in Grady, when she rose from the bed and saw the dystopian expanse the smeared and stained window. A constant reminder that time still went on, even as her world stood still.

"I made a mistake, Rick. An' I almost _died_ because of it. I was so blinded by the need to get him outta there, that I lost sight of everything else. There was just this rage. That was all I could see . . . And when the bullet . . ."

Judith nestled her head into her chest and Beth stared at the chipped paintwork and cracks in the ceiling.

She closed her eyes for a moment and allowed herself to remember the millisecond before the bullet tore through her skull. Before it all went black and everything twisted and distorted. The frozen period in time that she knew, she was going to die. And maybe she had, because this girl's body she was inhabiting, it wasn't the girl she used to know. It was a stranger. A stranger wearing her face.

"I think Beth Greene did die that day," she finally admitted, "Because everything she was . . . I've lost."

 _I'm just another creature wearing the face of a girl who once existed._

Rick didn't seem to have anything to say to that, and after a while, he shifted on the couch and moved to get up. Beth kept her eyes on the clock, her soul filled with its endless ticking, and Rick moved towards the stairs.

Before he went upstairs, he turned back to say something.

"I used to think that too," he admitted, "I used to think . . . Rick Grimes is gone. And maybe he is, I still don't know, but what I do know is that he would do _anythin'_ to protect his family. And I still feel that way. So even if we think we've lost who we are, we haven't completely, because a little piece of them is still inside us, tellin' us what to do."

". . . I don't think there's anything left in me."

He was silent for a while, but then . . .

"Judith does."

And then he left.

She tore her eyes away from the clock and stared down at the sleeping baby in her arms, slumbering with ease just like she had before their home within fences was destroyed. Beth wondered how much was left of her inside, but decided if it was enough for Judith, then it would be enough for her to try.

 _A little piece of them is still inside us._

Rick believed that.

After every terrible thing he'd had to do to protect them, he was the one who'd said they weren't too far gone.

 _Trust who you are._

 _Alive_.

 **.**

 **.**


	49. No sanctuary

**RUNNING BLIND**

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 **.**

Lilly stood by a chair in one of the rooms in Alexandria's medical center. Her single companion was Denise, the zone's psychiatrist and stand-in doctor, who was sat at the desk nearby reading a thick book on sedatives. She wore square glasses and had a soft expression. She'd been friendly with her greeting and smiled whenever they made eye contact.

Lilly liked her.

Steven came hurrying in through the doorway then with the large briefcase she'd seen him with during their travels.

He closed the door behind him then placed the case down on a table. Lilly and Denise came closer and watched his initial uneasy expression bleed into one of careful determination. He seemed to be making a decision, or rather, he'd already made a decision and was pondering on how to bring it into action.

Finally, his mouth tightened decidedly and he pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose.

"There's something I have to tell the two of you."

They waited expectantly and he began to open the case. He unlocked the mechanisms and lifted the lid . . . revealing an array of tiny plastic containers filled with a bizarre blue liquid.

They stared at it.

"What . . . is it?" Denise asked.

"It's a medication we used at the hospital I came from in Atlanta," he explained, "That's where it was developed. Originally it was me and some other doctors working on it, but eventually, it was just me."

"What does it do?"

His eyes shone with uncertainty as he stared at the tubes, and Lilly felt her chest thrumming with anticipation. "What does it do?" she repeated Denise's inquiry, and he swallowed.

"It's . . . a serum we were working on that increases effectiveness of bodily repair and the immune system. It heals external and internal injuries faster, strengthens blood cells and damaged nerves, and creates . . . a temporary immunity to the walker virus whilst it's circulating your system."

Lilly couldn't help but think that sounded awfully practiced as he said it, but then she began to properly absorb the words.

"The initial objective was for it to be used as a cure."

Denise dropped the pen in her hand and blinked. "That's impossible," she said, "A cure . . . is _impossible_! They tried, the people here at the start, they tried but it didn't work. It didn't . . . It's not _possible_ . . . !"

"It's not exactly a _cure_ ," he said, "The effects never got that far. But it can successfully fight an infection and cleanse a wound of the virus."

"Is it tested?" Lilly asked, "Do you know for sure that it can do that?"

"I had a friend," Steven started, "He got bit when he left the hospital one time. It was only a couple of months after we'd started working, but it stopped him from turning. It saved his life, and it's worked every time since."

Lilly thought of Meghan.

Meghan playing by the river in the dirt. Meghan screaming her name when a monster rose from the earth and took her. Meghan in her arms as she walked to the battlefield at the prison, and Meghan with a bullet shot through her temple by Brian.

Denise seemed amazed by what Steven was saying but there was something in his voice that made Lilly think there was something he wasn't saying.

"Your friend," she said, "Where is he now?"

"There was a fight between the officers. The Captain made some bad choices so Dawn _—_ his second in command _—_ killed him. And my friend, like so many others taking refuge in the hospital, got caught in the cross-fire. With him having been a survivor of the antivirus serum, Dawn was furious at losing him and became fixated on protecting every possible resource. The other doctors kept dying after that, and eventually, it was just me left. Me and a corrupt system of liars. Regardless, I kept working on the serum alone . . . And then Beth came."

 _Use everything you can use._

"We kept secretly giving her doses of the antivirus under the pretense that it was normal medicine, and monitored her behaviour. But Beth wanted to leave, and Dawn wouldn't let that happen."

"What happened to her?" Denise asked, and Steven reached into the case and withdrew one of the tiny containers.

". . . Dawn was afraid of Beth," he said, watching the liquid swish around in the tube as he shook it lightly. "Of what she was. And what she could be. So when Beth challenged her in front of everyone, when she stabbed her . . . Dawn wound up shooting her through the head. Then Daryl killed her."

Lilly and Denise were both silent.

Steven stared at the tube for a while before speaking again, like he was reliving the horrible moment he watched Beth Greene die, and then Lilly finally understood why he always tried so hard to save her.

She'd come when life was at its darkest point and shone a light. On all of them in the hospital. When death had almost swallowed them whole, she'd pulled them out of the beast's jaws and saved them.

Just like she had with the dawning herd when she'd first met Lilly and Dwight.

"This saved Beth," Steven whispered, ". . . But it also killed her."

Lilly wondered if they were all dead, merely possessing the bodies they wore like ghosts.

"I want to save her for real this time, but I need your help to do that."

They were merely the things left behind after their real selves found evanescence and turned to dust.

"Will you help me?"

"Yes," Lilly said before Denise could even so much as nod. "I will."

 _I want to know if we can reach nirvana, regardless of what we've become._

.

.

Noah followed Simon down the dull and dimly lit halls of The Sanctuary and felt a chill flow down his spine. They passed several workers as they walked, eerily reminiscent of the wards at Grady, who shot Noah strange expressions that almost held a kind of warning.

He swallowed and hobbled along after Simon, trying to keep an open mind and not judge the place too soon.

They stopped at a door suddenly and Simon reached for the handle. He opened the door and gestured Noah inside. He stepped in and was surprised at what he saw.

It was surprisingly decent living quarters—a spacious room with a bed, table, armchair, and even a TV set. There was also a small fridge in one corner and Noah blinked with awe as he stared at the details of the room. There was a _Metallica_ poster taped to the wall the bed was pushed against and a _Guns N' Roses_ one next to it. He found himself smiling despite the looks from the workers and turned to regard Simon, who was leaning against the doorway with a wide grin that made his moustache seem longer.

"What'd'ya think? You like it, doncha?"

Noah saw no reason to lie.

"Yeah, I do."

"Well, too bad because this ain't your room!"

"Wait, what?"

He burst out laughing. "I'm just messing with ya, kid."

". . . Oh." Noah mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Why don't ya get yourself nice n' settled in. Negan'll come and pay you a visit later. He _loooves_ to welcome newcomers first-hand."

"Uh, sure. Yeah. Thanks."

Simon laughed some more then closed the door, leaving Noah alone in the fairly decent room.

Noah took the opportunity to examine some of the room's contents, studying the TV set and a pile of video games he found next to it. He opened the fridge and found mostly beer—not his favourite beverage—but was pleased to see two big bottles of frosty cola and cherry soda in the door. He closed the fridge and wandered over to the other door in the room, opening it to reveal a small closet. He found himself going inside and closing the door behind him, memories from a long time ago resurfacing. Of him and his brothers playing hide and seek from their Mom, hiding in the closets crouched behind the coats and holding their breaths.

He closed his eyes.

His home had always been a warm and safe place, but seeing it again on their return after the hospital had been an eye-opener. With Tyreese on his heels as he ran as fast as he could, he remembered the exterior of the house looking the same, but the inside was a warped and twisted mirror image. Walls smeared with blood. Windows broken.

His mom . . . _dead_ , on the carpet. One brother dead on his bed, and the other still walking, eyes white and vacant as he sunk his rotting teeth into Tyreese's arm.

It was his fault, Noah knew. What happened to Tyreese.

He'd _killed_ him.

Just like he killed Beth.

"What are you doing in there?"

Noah jumped at the voice, not having heard the closet door pulled open, and turned to find two women staring at him.

"Uh," he stumbled over his words, "I, uh, well . . ."

The women looked at each other then turned back to him. One had dark hair with bangs and the other had fiery red hair, and they were both wearing black dresses. Their faces were painted with lipstick and mascara, and their eyelids were a blend of gold and brown powder. They reminded him of the girls at high school parties, all made up and wearing clothes that hugged their bodies tightly, who smiled sweetly and batted their eyelashes at the boys that passed them.

He suddenly felt very nervous and exposed.

He was sure Simon had described Negan as a _he_ , but still he opened his mouth to ask.

"Are you . . . ? I mean . . . Is one of you Negan?"

The women looked at each other again but laughed this time. Noah stood awkwardly in the closet as they laughed in the doorway. They eventually stopped, and the red-haired one ran a hand through her hair before answering. Her eyes glittered with amusement and a strange giddiness.

"No," she shook her head, "Of course not. Negan can't make it right now, so he sent us. I'm Frankie. This is Tanya, and that's Amber."

Noah glanced beyond the two to see another woman sat on his bed with a particularly large wine bottle in her hand.

His heart skipped a beat at the initial sight of her, her long blonde hair and delicate features looking all too familiar until he noticed the sadness of her expression. She wasn't wearing a smile like Frankie and Tanya, in fact, she was scowling, but Noah recognised that kind of frown, and he forced himself to look away from her.

"I'm Noah," he introduced himself, "Could I, uh, maybe get out of this closet?"

They laughed again at that and stepped aside for him to walk out. He shifted past them back into the room and stood between them and Amber, who was now drinking straight from the bottle on the bed. She stared at him after taking a huge swallow with hostile eyes, and he felt both immensely uncomfortable and sad at the quiet misery in that belligerence.

"Why are you all here?" he found himself asking, and Amber tore her gaze away from him and took another drink of the wine.

"We told you," Frankie answered, "Negan sent us."

"Yeah, I know, but . . . why?"

"He thought you should feel comfortable on your first night here after being out there on your own," Tanya said, "That's what we're here for."

Noah felt very alarmed by that. They were here to make him feel _comfortable_? Was that why they were dressed like that, with the tight black dresses and red lips? Was that why they were giggling in _that_ manner . . .

"He's gone really pale all of a sudden," Tanya murmured to Frankie, "Was it something we—"

"This, uh," Noah interrupted, "That, I mean, won't be necessary. You don't have to make me . . . comfortable. I'm fine."

They blinked.

"So you can go back to your . . . uh, wherever it was you came from, if you want? Really, I'm fine."

Amber sighed loudly suddenly and stared at him angrily.

"Don't you get it?" she said bitterly, though her voice was softer than her malice, "We can't _do_ that. We're wives. _Negan's_ wives. This is what we do."

It was Noah's turn to blink.

"Wives?" he repeated, "What . . . What do you mean?"

"I think that's enough of the Chardonnay now, Amber," Frankie started, but Amber simply scoffed and looked away. "What she means is what she said. We're Negan's wives. We do what he asks because that's our job. And sometimes that job is offering comfort to troubled newcomers."

"Wait, all of you? You're all his . . . wives? Is this what you chose?"

"It's what's best," Tanya answered, "In the hierarchy here, it's the best choice you can make. The best choice for us, and for the people we care about."

Amber scoffed again.

"So, you get things in return for being wives?" Noah asked, "Like . . . ?"

"Food, medicine, protection," Frankie listed, "We don't have to pay for it this way. We get everything we need for free."

"At what cost?"

"What do you mean?"

He bit his tongue. "You're letting people _use_ you. Use your _bodies_ , just so you can get food and medicine easier. Bargaining with everything you have. The _only_ thing that women really have to bargain with now. Is that what you want?"

He thought of Grady, with its terrible system and terrible cops who used the female wards. For their own needs, like they weren't even people. Like Gorman pursuing Joan and the other girl he thought was called Effy. Without care or remorse. Monstrosities. And Dawn, who just let it all happen to keep the peace.

"Can you really call that a choice?"

The women were silent.

". . . It keeps our families safe," Tanya said finally, her eyes cast downward and almost hidden by her bangs.

It sounded like she'd said those exact words a thousand times in the hopes of believing them.

Noah wondered what kind of a place it was he'd willingly walked into.

"What if," he suggested on a whim, "If you can't leave, what if we just talked? Y'know? Just talking. None of the other, uh, comforts. I wouldn't tell and Negan wouldn't have to know. Huh? What do you think?"

Frankie and Tanya seemed surprised but Amber frowned again and laid down on the bed. Noah tried a smile and lowered himself to sit down on the floor next to the bed. His trousers rode up slightly as he sat and they noticed the long scar snaking up his left leg. He didn't realise they'd seen it until he followed their lines of vision and pulled his trouser leg down over the scar.

"How'd you get it?" Amber asked, laid on her front on the bed staring down at him with that still semi-aggressive stare.

" _Amber_!" Frankie hissed, but Noah found himself smiling again.

"It's okay," he shrugged, "I don't mind. It happened before the world changed to what it is now. I was in my dad's car with him when a truck just came out of nowhere and hit us. It slammed into us and sent our car spinning off the road. We fell through the road barrier and the car landed on its back. There was glass everywhere, all the windows had been smashed in, and I could hear my dad calling me from the driver's seat. I'd been in the backseat that day, so the front seats had completely crushed my leg. It took the ambulance two hours to get us out, 'cause of all the glass and the wreckage. I needed surgery after they got us out, but the medics couldn't fix it like it was before. So now I'm stuck with this limp and scar."

"I'm sorry," Tanya said.

"Me too," Frankie added.

Noah glanced up at Amber, who was watching him with a strange expression.

". . . Almost sounds too ordinary for a world like this," she said eventually.

He wondered what kinds of things these women had seen. If they'd seen things like Rick's group had, or if they too had been sheltered from the horrors like he had in the Grady Memorial Hospital. Somehow, he sensed they'd seen some terrible things, despite the smiles and layers of makeup on their faces. There was something about their eyes that made him think they'd seen _horrible_ things, which pushed them towards the choice they'd made.

 _A world like this._

"Yeah," he agreed. "Way too normal."

 **.**

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Maybe Noah can help the wives? We'll see. Thanks for reading and don't forget to review. I hope you all have great days! :)


	50. The howling

**Author's Corner**

 _Warning_ : this chapter handles major episodes of depression and suicidal thoughts. There are also references to a past suicide attempt. It gets very angsty and some descriptions are a little gruesome (similar to Beth's dream in an earlier chapter), so I thought I would warn you beforehand.

Of course you're probably all used to this by now because this story does explore mental/emotional health quite a bit, and obviously Beth isn't in a very good head-space at all. I try to keep these aspects as accurate and realistic as possible because I think it's extremely important for them to be addressed and represented. If you're not comfortable reading about these kinds of things, you might want to skim read certain parts or just stop reading if you really don't like it.

As usual thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews! They're always so lovely and filled with interesting thoughts and questions, so keep that up!

 **Disclaimer:** still don't own twd lmao

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Beth sometimes wondered if there were wolves running around in her heart.

They came out at night and screamed their beautiful, terrible songs to the pallid moon in the sky. Sometimes no one could silence them. Not Maggie, not Judith, not Daryl. So she walked the shadowy streets of Alexandria on her own and wondered if they would ever run away into the night.

Sometimes she went to Effy, who told her stories on the porch of hers and Lilly's house. Her words were sharp but lovely, like a knife, and it was through those stories that Beth learned that Effy's dream had been to become a writer. She'd wanted to write a book, before, but all the publishing companies had long since burned.

Beth thought she still should write one.

People had already accepted the end of the world, but sometimes, when the darkness wasn't swallowing her heart, she wondered if this was just a new world. Another place that would eventually be cleansed of all nastiness and greed. And the people of this new world's future would need to know the truth of how their world came to be. The suffering . . . the hardships . . . the bonds that were forged. It was important that they knew.

It mattered.

It might have seemed like it was the end of humanity, but perhaps it was the revival.

Sometimes she went inside to Lilly, who mostly slept on the couch with Gregg. Beth only went to watch the innocence of the little boy still flickering away like a small flame. Lilly was the oxygen that allowed the flame to keep burning, and as she laid there on that sofa with his small sleeping head tucked under her chin, Beth wondered if she was the oncoming rain that would put out his little flame.

Sometimes she went to Mark and Lisa, who mostly lived in the medical bay now, their baby almost due. They spoke of Matty occasionally, and Beth felt the sting of her failure every time they did.

Mark didn't blame her.

Instead, he blamed himself, but Beth knew every little thing that had gone wrong was because of her. Which was why she was surprised when he apologised to her once. For the way he and Matty treated her when they first met, when they hauled her and her friends away by Dwight's orders.

She'd already forgiven them for that.

Dwight too.

On rare occasions, she went to Dwight. Whenever she could find him, that was, since he seemed to be getting absent more and more these days. Whenever he resurfaced, he'd meet her at the wall and they'd stare out into the darkness, wondering how they managed to save so many . . . yet fall so far.

Morgan was missing quite a lot too, but whenever he reappeared they sat in the zone's chapel and he listened to her play the piano that was next to the altar. The last time she'd played had been in the small church on their way along the coast. It felt like a long time ago, almost like a dream, and she sometimes wondered if she was living in a dream.

She remembered those words he'd said to her on that night so many nights ago.

 _When ya play, it's like all that vanishes. An' you're just a girl again._

Just a girl.

She would have given anything to be just that again.

Shepherd and Tanaka liked to play cards with her, with them having become insomniacs as well, and she learned that she was rather good at Old Maid and Go Fish. They were missing a lot though too, and they would never tell her where they had gone whenever she asked. Eventually, she stopped asking and accepted the truth.

The truth that all of them vanishing was simply the essence of the dream finally fading.

The dream she'd been having since she was placed in the trunk of the car . . . which was finally coming to its end.

Mostly she went to Edwards.

He spent basically all his time in the medical center, reading up on countless different diseases and trying to connect them to the walker virus.

One night, he told her the story of something happened at Grady, and it made her sad. Except that she was always sad now, so she wasn't sure if what he'd said had actually affected her.

He told her about Hanson and Dawn, and the other officers, and about how it all slowly turned to poison along with the rotting outside. He'd been trying to create an antivirus, and even now he was still trying. She wondered if all that trying would really make a difference, yet still, she helped him, but staring at those blue gleaming plastic tubes made her feel strange.

"Why did you save me?" she asked him out of the blue one night.

She sometimes wondered if he'd felt he owed her. For getting rid of Dawn and to repent for what he made her do to Trevitt.

Repaying the debt he owed her.

Surprisingly, he smiled.

"Because I wanted to."

 _No debts owed?_

 _No debts owed._

She smiled too.

When she was alone, however, Beth thought of all the people she hadn't been able to save. The ones they'd lost escaping the hospital, and all the ones after. Their faces flashed across the inside of her eyelids when she tried to sleep and the wolves in her head continued to howl.

Percy. Bello. The wards whose names she hadn't known. Alvarado. Licari. Franco. Sally. Tyreese. Matty. Noah . . . The list never stopped growing.

She wondered how long Rick's list was.

Maybe it was so long he'd stopped counting. Stopped remembering all their faces. He must have lost so many . . . _killed_ so many . . . Maybe forgetting was the only way he could cope.

She didn't think she could ever forget them.

Every night she wished to save them, but wishing on its own didn't amount to anything. Not even if you wrote it down. Wishes never came true unless you acted upon them yourself, but it was too late to do anything for them now. It was always too late.

The howling never silenced.

.

.

One night she woke from nightmares yet again and got up, careful not to wake her sister. She crept across the room and closed herself in the bathroom, staring at her reflection in the mirror above the sink. Her skin was pale and shining with sweat, and the flesh beneath her eyes was bruised and tired. She lifted a hand and slowly traced the stitches of the scar stretching from the left corner of her mouth up to her ear. They were uneven and coarse, painting a repulsive great half smile on her face, and she tried to remember what her skin had looked like before the cuts and bruises.

Her hand rose further to touch the headband she had covering _that_ scar on her head, and she pulled it away slowly to reveal the faded circular mark.

She stared at herself.

Thin and pale, with scarred and battered skin stretched tight across her bones, Beth searched for any essence of remaining prettiness she might have had, and found none. All she saw was ugliness, raw and blackened by toxic waste.

She wanted to cry but couldn't.

There was a dull, furry taste in her mouth, so she picked up a toothbrush and squeezed some toothpaste out onto the bristles. The paste was white with red and blue swirling stripes, and they made her feel nauseous. She shoved the brush into her mouth and scrubbed at her teeth, trying to rip away the rotting matter. She scrubbed so hard that her gums began to bleed at the pressure, and when she withdrew the toothbrush from her mouth it was stained with dripping red.

She looked down at the white line on her wrist which was still faintly inked over with the stonewashed letters of _ALIVE_ , and felt sick.

She sat down on the edge of the bath and felt the heaviness of her shoulders weighing her down. She thought she might fall into the tub, but she managed to hold herself there. A distant memory of her, Maggie and Shawn all in the bathtub together surfaced in her mind, and she stared into the empty whiteness of the tub she was leaning against. For a brief second, she saw the water, and the rubber duckies, and the mountains of bubbles that spilled over the edge and onto the fluffy rug by the tub. She saw herself laughing, and Maggie making tidal waves, and Shawn trying to untangle the knots in both his sisters' shampooed hair.

 _Daddy?_

She stopped before her dad could enter the room and felt her legs trembling.

How had it all gone so wrong?

How had they lost _everything_ they could possibly lose?

There was a box of razor blades on the side of the sink next to the toothpaste, and Beth felt her stomach drop at the memory of broken mirror echoing throughout the bathroom at the farm.

She remembered the burning sensation of dragging the piece along the inside of her wrist, tearing open the skin, and the hot scorching blood that came oozing out. She started to feel like she might be sick and tears pricked at her eyes, so she stood up and ran from the bathroom as fast as she could. She ran down the stairs of the house and through the downstairs rooms into the back garden and breathed out deeply as the cool night air washed over her face. She felt the night's gentle caress across her skin and in her hair, and she closed her eyes and pretended she was far away, farther than she could ever go, perhaps beyond the stars and spinning planets.

"Beth?"

She jumped at the voice and her eyes snapped open.

It was Glenn, sitting at the glass table on the patio with a book on his lap. He had a small lamp to be able to see what he was reading, and a steaming mug of something hot.

"Everything ok?" he asked, and Beth stood still, her pulse hammering.

She waited for him to pretend he hadn't seen her but he didn't and just kept sitting there, waiting for her to answer. Several rebel tears escaped her eyes then and slid down her cheeks, and the lamplight allowed him to see them.

He closed his book and leaned forward on the chair, eyes filled with an ocean of concern, and spoke again. "Beth?" he called again, "Are you . . . all right?"

She felt it wrong to run from him of all people, so after some hesitation, she slowly walked to the table and sat down on one of the chairs. She wiped her damp cheeks and bit down on the inside of her unscarred cheek, holding in the lump of emotion that was trying to force itself out.

". . . No," she whispered finally, "I'm not all right."

"What's wrong?"

She stared at his kind and compassionate features and shook her head.

"I don't know."

Strangely, he nodded, like he understood. He couldn't understand though; no one could understand. Her head felt like lead and her heart felt like poison. Her bones were heavy and lined with sickness, and her touch wilted flowers and stole the life from blameless children.

No one could _ever_ begin to understand.

". . . Does it hurt?" he asked gently.

She wanted to laugh. Out of spite. But all she felt was the sadness.

"Yeah," she answered, before casting her eyes upward. ". . . The wounds feel pretty bad too."

Glenn smiled sadly, and for a moment Beth thought that he was perhaps the kindest and bravest man she'd ever known. Always smiling, always listening. He'd given Maggie something she could never give, and at first, she'd envied that, but now she saw that comfort he offered and very briefly wondered if there had ever been a chance _she_ could have had that.

She instantly hated herself for thinking it and stood up, head spinning.

"Beth?" he blinked, confused.

She tried to speak but her words choked her, and she stumbled away from the table towards the path at the side of the house.

"I'm sorry," came spilling out, "About _—_ I mean, for taking your bed. Well, yours and Maggie's bed. You can . . . You can have it back now."

"It's the middle of the night. Where are you going _—_ _?"_

"Just . . . away. Away from here."

He stood up then as well. "Are you coming back?"

"No— _Yes_. I . . . Maybe."

She could feel her legs wobbling and before Glenn could say another word, she took off running. Thankfully he didn't chase her, but she still ran so fast the surroundings blurred and warped. She heard her heart beating in her ears and felt a stinging in her stitches. She was alone. She'd never felt so alone. It hurt. It hurt so much everywhere . . . She wondered when the hurting would stop . . .

 _The pain doesn't go away._

Or perhaps it just didn't.

She ran so fast she tripped and fell onto her front with a loud _smack!_

Hauling herself up, groaning, she examined herself and found huge rips torn in her jeans and blood oozing out from her skinned knees. She hissed at the pain and pulled herself up, the scrapes burning and dripping with blood. She stumbled along the street, every step sending a trail of fire through her legs until she reached a certain door. Her pulse hammered violently and she remembered the pain she'd felt when she was lying in her bed on the farm after Shane opened the barn doors.

The first true pain she'd ever known.

 _No one can protect us._

 _We're alone._

 _Alone._

The blood from her knees was dripping onto the gravel beneath her feet. She wanted to tear into the ground with her blunt fingernails and release the fires below. She wanted to burn in them, along with the world. It hurt . . . It _hurt_. . .

Suddenly, the door opened, and it felt like time had stopped.

Beth tore her blurred gaze up and saw the silhouette of Daryl standing on the porch. His outline was uncannily familiar to her, all shapes and lines she recognised, and she hobbled forward like a walker, her hands reaching out towards him.

She saw his silhouette dart forward and down the steps until he caught her in his arms and she sagged against him. She heard the dripping of blood on the pavement and gripped the leather of his vest with her hands. He squeezed her against the hardness of his chest and she felt herself choking on the sadness she couldn't escape. It was like a shadow; a demon. And she knew now that there was no running from it.

Rick _was_ a liar, she decided in that moment. Claiming they got to come back, because, in reality, no one did. He was a _liar_ , and he hadn't been able to save her daddy.

He hadn't been able to save _her_.

Daryl held her shaking body in the dark and she clung to him like a parasite, sheltered from her own darkness by his. She wondered if _he_ could save her, as he held her. If his demons could chase away her own, bringing back the light that once shone in her soul.

That light could save him.

It could save them both.

But it had been snuffed out. Killed by the bullet like Beth, and this stranger who'd been left behind . . . _Her_. . . No one could save her.

Daryl picked her up.

She was only half-conscious but she could feel his arms beneath her knees and around her waist, carrying her up the steps of the porch like he had a long time ago. The blood from her knees had leaked all over her jeans and was staining his skin deep dark red. She wondered how much of her blood he'd had on him now, after the hospital, and pressed her face into the dark fabric of his shirt. He smelled of smoke and earth and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat against her cheek. A strong and constant pulse. The heart of a warrior.

 _Alive_.

The letters on the inside of her wrist had almost faded.

 _Alive_.

She wondered how he still was but she was not.

The howling in her heart seemed to grow louder so she closed her eyes and allowed herself to believe they were back in the funeral parlour all those moons ago. She imagined the light was still shining inside her, warming them with its tender glow. Where the sound of the piano was their lullaby.

Perhaps there was another reality out there where that was true. Where things were good and the light could still shine.

She wanted to see Beth.

She wanted to see her.

She wanted to see her face and her smile and her eyes shining like stardust. She wanted to hear her laugh again, a sound that had been so common once that she'd heard it every day. She felt removed from herself, like she was high up in the air watching this shell of a body being carried away. She felt like nothing. Nothing at all.

Why? Why had she _done_ that? . . . Why had she killed her? . . .

Why wouldn't she come back?

 _A stranger wearing her face._

The stable rhythm of Daryl's heart lulled her to sleep, and she dreamed of a better world where she hadn't died.

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Don't forget to review!


	51. Wolves without teeth

**Author's Corner**

Thank you again for all the great comments! I'm sorry if I made you all sad :')

There's a tiny bit more happiness and hope in this chapter, but it's still pretty depressing. What's important in this chapter though is that there's a light growing in the midst of darkness, and Beth is finally starting to reach out to try touch it. It's hardly the fluff I know you all crave, but at least it's something (the fluff will come in time kids). So enjoy and don't forget to review!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Beth only became aware that she wasn't asleep when she felt Daryl place her down gently on a soft surface.

He sat her down and she opened her eyes to find him knelt before her, his attention fixed on her cut up knees. He'd placed her on a blue armchair in the front room and was carefully tearing open the leg parts of her jeans for easier access to the wounds.

She winced when his hands brushed against the injuries and he glanced up apologetically.

Once her jeans—now ruined anyway—were torn sufficiently, he summoned a damp cloth from somewhere and began to lightly dab at her bloody kneecaps. She watched him silently as he wiped the warm cloth across her skinned knees, cleaning away the blood. The water in the bowl soon turned a pale pink that flowered with deep scarlet whenever he squeezed the cloth into it. The sting of pain would come occasionally, but mostly it felt fairly nice.

He took care of her.

He always took care of her, no matter what.

He always tried so hard to be good.

"What happened?" he asked.

"I fell over."

He smirked.

"Gathered."

She wanted to smile too. He deserved a smile after everything he'd done. But her lips wouldn't obey her wish and remained in their permanent miserable line.

She balled her first on the arm of the chair.

"How come ya fell?"

"I was runnin'."

"Why?"

At first, she thought about making a joke to divert the subject, but then she realised that she didn't have to.

She didn't have to lie to _him_.

". . . I don't think I can be here," she whispered, and he looked up at her.

"This house?"

His mouth was curved into a wry smirk again.

She shook her head, appreciating the lightness of his expression. "No. This place. Alexandria. I can't . . . I can't do it."

He put the cloth down in the bowl and reached for a soft dry flannel, then carefully dried her now cleaned knees.

"I know the feelin'."

Once dry, yet still bleeding slightly, he pulled out an abundance of band-aids from his front pocket and pressed them over the wounds. They were plain and generic, except for one he had still in his hand along with the rest he hadn't used.

That one was blue with a small yellow star, and she could tell from looking at it that he must have had it for quite a long time. The others were new whilst that one was old and crumpled at the edges.

". . . What's wrong with me?"

It came out as a near sob.

He stayed on the floor in front of her, despite being done with her wounds. His eyes were focused on her intently and remained partially hidden by the hanging drapes of his hair.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with ya," he said. "What makes you think somethin' is?"

She lifted her shoulders in a small shrug.

She didn't have to lie.

"Everything just feels . . . sad."

"Sad?"

"Yeah. Sad."

He kept his hands on her thighs, his palms strong and steady, holding her in place so that she didn't topple into pieces.

"Sad, how?"

"Like . . . not the kind of sad where you lose somethin' important to you. Or if somebody hurts your feelings . . . This is a sadness that's always there. Cold. Lonely. Numbing. It feels like there's nothing."

"Nothin'?"

"Nothing left to remind me what it was like to _not_ feel like that."

A flash of understanding shot through his eyes.

He lifted his hands from her thighs and took her hands, holding them in her lap and cradling her small, fragile fingers with his large, strong ones. She liked the way his hands felt and threaded their fingers together, feeling the coarse warmth from his palms seeping into her own.

She hadn't been able to remember what real warmth felt like.

"Beth . . ." he said quietly, and she felt something stir inside her.

"Daryl," she whispered in return, and his name on her tongue felt warm as well. "Daryl . . . Daryl . . ."

She liked the sound of the two syllables on her lips.

His thumbs ran circles on the back of her hands. The movements were cautious and uncertain, and she could feel the growing clamminess in his palms, but she didn't care. Movement was warm, sweat was warm, _blood_ was warm.

Her empty heart screamed and she felt invisible tears streaming down her cheeks. She didn't understand why she felt that way and she wanted to stop. She wanted the emptiness to stop. The numbness. The heartache.

She wanted all of it to just stop.

" _Daryl_ ," she whispered. Like a secret.

Edwards's words came to her suddenly, and she felt her cheeks warming against her will.

More genuine warmth.

 _Is he really just a friend to you?_

Daryl kept her safe. He kept her warm. He believed in her when no one else had, and listened when no one had ever listened before . . .

He'd been the first to see.

The first to see—not Beth Greene—but this girl she'd become now.

He'd seen her and he'd believed in her. He'd _wanted_ to see her, and it was because of him that she'd managed to make it to here.

She relied on him for so much more than he would ever know.

 _Daryl is very important to me._

He rubbed his fingers against hers and the silence between them stretched. A warm silence, and it was in that moment that she wondered if maybe she'd gotten it wrong.

Edwards thought that Daryl was in love with her, but maybe that wasn't true . . . Maybe it was the other way around.

Maybe she was in love with him.

At least, she thought _Beth_ had been.

She began to feel even warmer but then remembered her guilt as she ran from Glenn. She was starved of love. Hungry and alone. If her suspicion was true, then perhaps she loved Daryl simply because he was the only one who could see _her_ inside of the sunshine girl with blonde braided hair. If he loved anyone, it was Beth and not this person she'd become. But he still saw her, and that was what she fed on.

Her heart was barren and hollow.

"Daryl?" she breathed his name again, ". . . There's something I have to tell you."

His eyes shifted to meet hers and she imagined a tunnel.

A tunnel with a light at the end.

Slowly, tentatively, she reached out towards that light.

"Before I got taken . . . you said something."

"I said a lotta things."

"You said one thing, at that table. You told me not to leave a note because we could stay there in that place. _Together_. That we could work it out with whoever's stash it was we were eatin' from."

He didn't seem to understand. She didn't blame him.

"Yeah?" he prompted.

The end of the darkness felt so close, she could almost feel that burning flame.

"That was when I realised."

She knew it wouldn't magically make her better, but she was so close. She could almost touch it. She could almost . . .

". . . I didn't need anything."

He creased his brows in confusion.

She went on, "I didn't need anything at all. No candles, no home, no peanut butter, no nothin'. I didn't need any of it . . . I just needed you."

Daryl's eyes grew slightly wider. Her heart beat with fear and anticipation, but she couldn't stop the words pouring out of her mouth. She wanted him to understand, she wanted _herself_ to understand. She wanted to tell him the pain she felt and the happiness she craved but couldn't reach.

She wanted to feel like Beth again, amid the light of candles with a gentle, serene smile on her face.

"You showed me who I was," she whispered, "You saved my life when I wasn't strong enough to do it myself. You made me happy. An' I didn't get that until I was far away and staring out of a window in Atlanta. You taught me what it meant to be saved, and I . . ."

 _I get it now._

The tunnel started to grow longer, and the darkness expanded.

"I destroyed all that by being so _stupid_!"

"No," he reproached, voice firm.

"I did. I destroyed everythin', it was all my fault. I was selfish and stupid and I killed them. I killed _us_. I did. I _killed_ us!"

"We ain't dead."

"We might as well be."

He shook his head. " _No_ , I don't believe that. I used to but I don't anymore. I don't 'cause _you're_ here."

He squeezed her hands.

"You told me," he said, ". . . You told me you were still here."

She felt her heart stop.

 _I'm not like you or them._

The world went still.

"You told me that an' it's true. You're here. You're alive. I know you don't believe that but you _are_. You are, Beth. You are . . ."

She could see the determination and anger in his eyes. The hurt and the sadness. The sadness they shared. She wondered what his eyes had looked like before it, and if hers looked the same as his did now. Dark and icy, and lined with the pain of a thousand lashes. Both of theirs physical. She remembered the sting of Dawn's beatings, and her already healed scars prickled with the cutting memory.

 _I made it._

She knew she had to tell him. Even if that rage and self-loathing consumed him.

"At the hospital," she started, her heart filling with new bitterness and fear, "There was a man. That's where it started to go wrong. He . . . _wanted_ me, an' one day he attacked me. I was frightened. I was scared but there was somethin' else in me that made me able to deal with him."

Daryl looked enraged and devastated at what she was saying, and the bitterness in her heart began to bleed into agony. But _something_. Not nothing.

His expression morphed into one of guilt and he almost tore his gaze away from hers. He didn't though.

He continued to punish himself further.

"I killed him, Daryl. He attacked me and I killed him. He's dead."

"You—"

"I killed a lot of people. So many people are dead because of me. Good people. Bad people. They died. And it's my fault."

"He deserved to die."

"But what gives us the right? How can we decide who lives or dies?"

He cast his eyes down.

"We've been doin' that from the start."

She could feel herself trembling. "The world ended and we became gods. We pass judgement on humanity an' kill those we deem unfit to live. They deserved to die, you're right. The Governor, Dawn, they deserved to die. But it was us who took the life from them."

"The world was always like that."

 _ALIVE_ , Maggie had written.

 _ALIVE_.

"I needed you . . ." she whispered, "I needed you before, and I needed you when I went for Dawn with the scissors."

What did it mean to be alive?

"I needed you . . ."

Something surged in her, like a burst of embers, and she was filled with a burning heat that pushed at the sadness and howled in its face.

 _What does it mean . . . ?_

She swallowed the lump of fire.

"I _still_ need you."

He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms again. She felt the fire of his embrace and wrapped her arms around his waist. She held him selfishly and remembered the hug after their fight, drunk on moonlight, then all the ones that came after. The one in the river, with water lapping at their heels and warm air on their skin.

An owl hooted outside and she closed her eyes.

"I'm not gonna leave ya."

She smiled and the darkness hissed.

.

.

Edwards followed Lilly down the moonlit streets of Alexandria and wondered why whatever she had to show him was so urgent, and why it had to be done under the cover of night.

They snuck down one shadowy street and Lilly quietly tapped on the front door of one of the houses. Shepherd opened the door. After she'd let them in and closed the door behind them, Edwards turned and flashed her a quizzical look.

"What's going on?" he asked, and the two both shushed him. "Why do we have to be quiet? Rick won't mind if you want to smoke some pot."

Lilly's face twisted into one of confusion, and Shepherd looked horrified at what he'd said.

" _Doc_!" she hissed, "This is serious. And that was _one_ time. I only asked you to cover because you _know_ how Dawn was with the smell of marijuana. She would've kicked our asses so bad if she found out."

Despite himself, Edwards nodded.

Lilly smirked, surprisingly. "So besides already being the Devil incarnate, she was majorly strict as well?"

"I'm guessing you didn't sneak me over here to talk about Dawn's vendetta against pot," he shifted the subject, "So why'd you bring me here?"

Lilly and Shepherd glanced at each other momentarily then made their way across the room. They led him to a staircase he assumed went down to the basement and gestured him down.

"Are . . . you going to tell me what's down there?" he asked.

They didn't answer.

A sense of foreboding creeping into his stature, Edwards swallowed and made his way down the steps. He followed them down to a basement corridor which led to a closed door, which Tanaka was standing in front of with a severe expression. Silently, he moved and opened the door for Edwards to enter, and his silence unnerved him even more.

He walked through the door and was filled with a sense of dread.

What he saw, he wished he hadn't.

.

.

Daryl was gone when Beth woke up and she was swarmed with the vigorous stabbing of chill.

The warmth she'd felt before was gone and she shivered.

She sat up on the couch he'd laid her on and drew her arms around herself, suddenly feeling very small.

"Daryl?" she called his name softly, but there was no reply.

The blanket over her fell to the floor when she stood up and she glanced around the room frantically. The house was silent, bar the distant hum of the refrigerator, and she felt fear ebbing into her system slowly. There wasn't anything to be afraid of. She'd faced so much worse. But alone in the dark without the sound of the wind in the trees or the breathing of someone else, Beth didn't think she'd ever felt so afraid.

" _Daryl_?" she tried again, but there was still nothing.

Biting her lip, she moved towards the door and left the unbearably empty house. Outside was colder, naturally, but at least that coldness was physical.

She jogged down the street, feeling her loose hair sway against her back and shoulders. Somehow, she'd forgotten the way back to Maggie's house, and that filled her with even more dread. She wandered aimlessly, heart pounding like a colossal drum, and the hairs on the back of her neck rose and prickled as she recognised the sensation of being watched.

She spun around but found no one.

The towering walls almost seemed like they were closing in on the zone, and Beth could feel herself shaking. She thought of her room in Grady, with its sickly grey walls and the too bright artificial lights. She remembered waking up in that tiny bed with the IV pumping fluid into her, and the window that wasn't barred but may as well have been.

She felt sick, and hunched over, clutching her stomach. She bent her knees and crouched with her arms around her, rocking slowly and feeling the sweaty air on her skin.

"Beth?"

She almost toppled over at the voice and her head shot up.

It was Abraham.

He stood towering over her like a giant, and the nausea in her stomach tripled when she met his gaze. There was a remorse in his eyes and his mouth was twisted into a frown, and she shuddered when he offered a hand to help her up.

She smacked it away and shot him a furious glare.

"Are you . . . all right?" he asked hesitantly.

"Leave me alone."

His shoulders slumped.

Beth's eyes only blazed with more rage. She imaged Maggie and Daryl's faces after he came back and told her. Told her he'd dumped her sister in the trunk of a car like expendable baggage. Like _garbage_.

"Rosita lied for you," she spat, like venom. "She said it was all of you who decided. But it was just you."

He tore his eyes away from her and looked down. The anger flooded her heart and she balled her fists so hard she could feel her fingernails puncturing the flesh of her palms.

Despite the anger, she knew he'd been doing what he thought was right for the group.

It hadn't been out of malicious intent, but her own selfishness consumed her.

"What made you think you had the right to _do_ that?"

He didn't try to come closer, but he slowly lowered himself and sat down on the ground several feet away from her. His eyes were still cast down and he looked smaller, even with his height and build.

". . . I didn't," he grunted quietly, "I had no right."

Her glare didn't soften.

"When Daryl gave you to me, when he trusted me with that, I didn't understand what it meant. From what I could see, you were . . . You . . ."

"I was dead," she finished sharply.

He hadn't been wrong.

"You were . . . yeah. And when I had you after him an' I went our different ways, I wanted to get ya back to Maggie. I did, but I got ambushed. I was gonna _die_. And you . . . I was selfish. I didn't think about the consequences of what I'd done. And then it was too late."

"Why a car?"

He looked at her then, confused.

"Huh?"

"Why'd you leave me in a car?" she asked, "In the trunk with the lid closed, if you thought I was dead?"

His mouth twisted as he pondered and he shook his head. "I couldn't leave you to the walkers. They would'a torn you apart . . . I couldn't do that."

"Maybe it would've been better that way."

He stared at her with alarm and her expression turned neutral. His hair, normally coppery orange, was almost red in the darkness.

Practically the colour of blood.

"You would'a had my blood on your hands," she said, "But at least then you wouldn't have had to feel guilty about it." Her voice turned bitter towards the end and he grimaced. She had no reason to hide her scorn from the man who'd gambled her life. One half of her empathised and understood his reasons, but the other half wanted to tear out his throat with her teeth and watch him bleed to death on the concrete.

"I'm _sorry_ ," he said, voice cracking, "I truly am. Nothing can undo what I did, an' I don't expect you to ever forgive me, but I need you to know that I am sorry . . . I know how it feels to be left behind."

"You can't possibly understand," she snapped.

"I can. My family, my wife and kids . . . they left me a note. I woke up one day and they were just gone. They were afraid of the man I'd become. So I searched an' I searched, and I found them, but they were already dead. I know it was my fault, because I couldn't make them feel safe anymore . . . I killed them, I know that, I know . . ."

Beth expected to feel pity after hearing his story, but there was just the usual nothingness that resided in her heart.

 _I killed them._

But her tongue had come to know those three words all too well.

"So you understand," she said, and a cricket chirped in the distance.

"Understand what?"

"That we're all dead."

He rebuked, "No we're not."

"How can you still think that after going through somethin' like that?"

"'Cause no matter how many shitstorms you're hit with, life always makes it through."

She went silent then, contemplating his words.

 _Life always makes it through._

Her dad was in those words, and her throat closed in on itself.

"You're wrong," she whispered, " _Life_ was the _first_ to abandon us."

His expression wasn't one of agreement and she was astounded at how he could still believe this existence of theirs was worthy of being called living.

Humanity was dead.

Anyone who still believed otherwise was a fool.

The walkers had just accepted it faster.

Shawn and her mom flashed into her mind then and she winced. She saw them staggering out of the barn and then on the ground with the rest of the rotting bodies. Then there was Otis, betrayed and left to die, and Patricia, quite literally ripped out of her grasp. Then poor, sweet Jimmy, whose death she hadn't even witnessed. And of course, her daddy, murdered on his knees like a criminal. All of them had been taken from her, and the pain they'd left in their wake would never go away.

Andrea had been right.

The pain never did go away.

But she'd run out of room for it.

"C'mon," Abraham said finally, "Maggie really will kill me if I leave you out here to catch your death—"

She practically heard his regret at his wording and she laughed sourly.

"You don't have to worry about _that_ ," she reassured, "You already made sure of it."

He stilled like he'd been slapped but still reached to help her up, and she slapped his hands away again. Her glare was poison and she hit him again, only this time in the chest. He didn't try to stop her so she did it again. She punched him hard and felt the sting in her knuckles, but she kept on punching.

 _You could've finished me off!_ she wanted to yell. _You could've prevented all of this! If you hadn't been so self-righteous and stupid!_

She could feel herself wanting to cry, so she struck him harder, and the impact of her fists sent him backward ever so slightly despite her tininess compared to him. She snarled when he lifted his hands and gripped her wrists, and writhed where she stood. Like a fire. A cold, lifeless fire.

"Get off me!" she shrieked, "Get _off_!"

" _Hey_!"

They both turned and saw Morgan sprinting towards them.

He pulled her away from Abraham and stopped her from lunging at him for more punches. She screamed and he firmly told Abraham to leave, which he did, with heavy shoulders, and Beth felt the thrum of hatred singing in her veins. She'd felt it before for Dawn and The Governor, and herself, but this time was different. This time felt infectious, like there was a disease plaguing her senses and driving her mad.

Perhaps she was already mad. She wouldn't be surprised.

"Beth," Morgan called out to her, but she barely heard his voice. She struggled in his arms and felt hot frustrated tears building in her eyes. She felt like a child. A sad, broken child. She hated it. She hated the pathetic excuse of a life Abraham claimed she still had. She _wanted_ it ripped from her so that she was left bleeding in the dirt.

She wanted it to finally end.

"Tell me again what a coda is."

She felt herself go still and almost choked on the lump in her throat.

"Tell me," he said against the top of her head, arms wrapped around her, "Tell me again what a coda is. The circle with the cross. I know you remember. You have to remember, Beth. What is it?"

She whimpered, like a beaten dog. She reached through the fuzz of cryptic memories. She remembered. She remembered.

". . . It's . . . a musical symbol . . . that signals you to skip a part of the song . . . then go back and repeat . . . the part from before . . . until you reach the end."

"And not the little bear from _Brother Bear_?"

She shivered.

"No . . . His name was spelled with a K."

"Got it. Koda. Not coda."

"Not coda . . ."

In his arms, she thought of after she'd cut her wrist. After her daddy had stitched it up and told her that everything would be okay. When he took her in his arms and called her his little girl, and she felt that maybe death wasn't all that was left in this new world.

But even a coda couldn't stop the song from ending.

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	52. Endless song

**Author's Corner**

What's this? ? A NOT completely depressing chapter? ? ? WHO AM I

Hopefully you'll all enjoy this one a little bit more than the last few hehe. I think a few of you were ready to kick my butt if it didn't get a bit more cheerful soon (well it's hardly cheerful but there's an element of hope returning as you'll see in this chapter).

 _Italics_ are flashbacks or dreams, in case you were wondering.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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 _"_ _Hey, Beth, what's the name of that book you were talking about?"_

 _She turned in her chair._

 _"_ _What book?"_

 _Zach beamed, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her cell, and she found herself smiling in turn because of his ear-splitting grin. "The one about World War One," he tried to explain, "You said it was set in France. At the Battle of the Somme?"_

 _"_ _You mean_ Birdsong _?"_

 _"_ _That's it!"_

 _She giggled at his triumphant expression and pulled her chair closer to the bunk bed. "Why'd you ask?"_

 _"_ _I was thinking about it," he said, brows drawn together cutely as he thought carefully, "You said the main character had an affair with a married woman."_

 _"_ _Yeah. But she breaks his heart and he goes to war with that pain weighin' him down. It's a beautiful story and the narrative is organised so well that it really captures you."_

 _"_ _I_ _love it when you talk literature."_

 _She giggled harder as he tried to pull her towards him, but he hit his head on the top bunk and stopped with a muffled_ ow! _that only made her laugh harder._

 _"_ _Why were you thinkin' about it?" she asked._

 _He took her hands and threaded their fingers together, his smile suddenly seeming distant and contemplative. Zach was kind and sweet, enthralled by the mechanics of cars, and more than a little eager to impress his idols, Rick Grimes and Daryl Dixon._

 _She'd never seen him wear such an expression._

 _"_ _I sometimes forget," he said finally, "That wars like that happened. On that mass scale. It feels like another world."_

 _"_ We _were just fightin' a war," she reminded, "The Governor gave us no choice. People have always fought."_

 _"_ _I know, but this . . . Sometimes I think about everything that's happened now. About how many people have died. Those people he killed, from Woodbury, they were my friends. And he just . . . murdered them. But that was always happening in wars like those ones."_

 _Beth smiled sadly and squeezed his hands._

 _"_ _He's gone now."_

 _"_ _Do you think he'll come back?"_

 _She remembered him and his men storming the prison whilst she hid in the woods. So many of them were killed during the attack. And the boy who found her, Carl and her dad. The boy Carl had murdered._

This world makes killers of us all.

 _"_ _He'd have to be real stupid to do that," she said, lifting the tone of her voice in the hopes of cheering him up. "We outnumber him by like a million now since we joined forces and found new people."_

 _Fortunately, Zach's grin returned._

 _"_ _Yeah," he laughed, "He'd need a chopper or a tank or something if he even wanted a chance!"_

 _They both giggled and Beth wound her arms around his neck. Sometimes she forgot there was a world of destruction beyond the fences. Things had been going so well in the prison. They were well fed, well equipped and all well acquainted by now. It felt safe. And happy._

 _It was starting to feel like a place they could call their home._

We can live here _, she'd written in her journal not long after they arrived._

We can live here for the rest of our lives.

 _She didn't doubt that until she watched him leave for that final run he never returned from._

.

.

Edwards uneasily made his way out of the house and stopped to stand in the street. His body was frozen with shock and uncertainty over what he'd seen in the basement, and the single thing that he knew for sure was that he had to find Beth.

He had to find her.

 _Now_.

.

.

Beth followed Morgan back to his house and took the quilt he offered her. She wrapped it around her shoulders and walked after him into the kitchen. He gestured her to the table and started boiling some hot water. He placed two mugs on the counter and then poured the water into them. He gave one to her and took the other himself, and when she looked inside the cup she saw a dark steaming liquid. She smelled chocolate and heat, and cupped her hands around the mug.

"Want a bagel?" he asked, "Shepherd keeps giving me them."

"Uh, sure."

As he fetched a packet of bagels and started buttering them with jam, Beth's thoughts wandered. She thought of Zach, and his beloved jam doughnuts. How he claimed they were the world's greatest luxury. She had never cared for doughnuts particularly, but the way his face lit up when she gave him the ones she and Carol had baked changed her opinion ever so slightly . . .

Her poor, sweet, sweet Zach, whom she'd been too cold-hearted to shed so much as a tear for.

Morgan slid her a plate and bit into his own bagel, jam spilling down onto his hand. He lapped it up with his tongue and she almost laughed. She stared down at the bagel on her plate and picked at it, feeling the jam between her fingers and remembering the world they'd lost.

"I was horrible to Abraham," she said quietly, and Morgan looked up from his bagel at her.

"What were you two fighting about?" he asked.

Her shoulders slumped slightly. ". . . The reason I was separated from Rick and the others," she whispered, "Is because I was left behind . . . Abraham was the one that did that. That left me behind."

Comprehension appeared in Morgan's features, and he put down his bagel.

"I know it wasn't his fault that all this happened to me. He thought I was dead. But I . . . It hurt. That he just left me there. Like I was nothing. Like I wasn't anybody important . . . Sometimes I think that hurt more than the bullet."

"You are important."

"Not compared to Rick and everyone else," she shook her head, "Even with Carl there, it was always me they had to constantly keep an eye on and make sure didn't die. Nameless. The liability. Nothin' more than Maggie's baby sister . . . I always knew that."

"That's not true," he insisted, "You can't measure your worth like that. Strength comes in many forms."

"Well, whatever strength I had, it never helped anyone the same way they helped me."

 _You're not strong enough._

She'd said that she was strong, but really she'd known that Dawn was right. She'd been weak and dependent, helpless without Rick's decisive thinking and Daryl's capability. When she was trapped inside Grady, it had been the first time she'd had to think and fight for herself. She was small and useless in a fight, underlooked and underestimated by everyone in the hospital, but that was when she realised she _had_ an advantage she could use.

She was small, but manipulative. No one would ever doubt her quiet words or mousy demeanour. She found her strength, but no one would ever see it as a strength. And that was what made her so deadly in there. What had made her _fatal_ to Gorman and O'Donnell.

They had never expected her to fight back.

"What were you doin' out this late?" Morgan asked. "Or did ya sneak out in the middle of the night specifically to go pick a fight?"

She smiled.

"No. I was lookin' for Daryl. He was gone when I woke up."

"He didn't leave ya a note or anythin'?"

"Nope, no note . . . He was just gone."

"He's probably fine," Morgan reassured, "I wouldn't worry. It's Daryl. He might'a wanted to surprise you with bagels and jam. I've ruined that for him if that was the case."

She wanted to not worry, but it was immensely difficult. She knew he hadn't, but it felt like he'd abandoned her. She couldn't take more of feeling like that. It was already gnawing away at her bones and fuelling her night terrors. She wanted to feel calm and sure like Morgan said, but the fear was still trying to consume her.

It had already devoured her heart.

"Morgan . . ." she said his name quietly. "Do you ever . . . have bad dreams?"

"What kinda bad dreams?"

"Just . . . bad dreams. The ones you wake up from sweatin' and terrified. You know . . . You know."

His expression lost that light-hearted quality and he cast his gaze downward.

"Yeah," he answered softly, "I do know."

"Is there any way to get them to stop?"

"Well, you can't control dreams. But you can remember that that's all they are. If you remember that, then they have no power over you."

She tapped her fingers against her mug of hot chocolate and glanced at the scar on her wrist.

The dreams had been bad _then_ , all darkness and death, but she'd managed to pull through.

She couldn't remember how she had.

"I've been forgetting things too," she added, "Little things that don't seem all that important, but sometimes I can't remember them. No matter how hard I try."

"Like what?"

"I forgot my middle name yesterday. Just . . . _forgot_ it. I couldn't remember it at all."

"Do you remember it now?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

She warmed her hands around the mug. "It's Ann," she said, "Bethany Ann Greene. Not even anythin' complicated. But I still forgot."

Morgan took a drink of his cup, the smell of coffee rising with the steam, and he stared at her.

"Ann," he repeated, "Bethany Ann Greene. That's you. You might not feel strong, but your name has power. All names have power. Your name is who you are."

"No," she shook her head. "You get to decide who you are. People can change."

"I don't disagree, but a name can inspire. A name can arouse hope. We get to decide who we are, we do, but a name reminds everyone else of what we're fighting for. Sometimes a single name can motivate an entire nation to fight against injustice. _That's_ power."

She'd never thought of it like that before.

All it took was a name to encourage people to stand up against tyranny and destroy it. There were examples of it all throughout the Bible, practically in every story. Each parable always with the same idea: with enough numbers, no problem is invincible. And it translated into the world today as well.

 _Rick_. Rick had unintentionally nurtured them into specially crafted warriors that would lay down their lives to protect one another. And protecting each other sometimes involved destroying villainous monsters and their armies whenever they threatened them. They were willing to fight for a future that might not even involve them, so long as they could make it even a tiny bit better for Judith and Carl.

Rick Grimes was more than just a name. It was a rally. A battle cry and a promise, all wrapped into two tiny syllables. She'd thought she could never become something like that, but maybe those kinds of things were never exactly the same.

 _Strength comes in many forms._

It was in that small moment that Beth Greene realised she had power, no matter how insignificant and docile it may seem.

She might not be a leader, but she was something with the desire to save people.

She'd tried to get everyone out of Grady, and she'd tried to lead everyone from Crawford to a safer place they could call home. She might not have succeeded in saving everyone, but what made her different from people like The Governor and Negan was that she'd _tried_.

She cared.

Which meant her heart had to be more than just a dead organ in the prison of her ribcage.

She could stop the darkness devouring her whole if she _tried_ to stop it. Rick had. Daryl had. _Everyone_ , in some form or way, had. She was just being a coward, exactly like Maggie had said. She couldn't just wait for someone to save her, she had to storm the castle herself and take back her life. It was only her that could do that.

 _You can't just sit around wanting and wishing to change . . ._

 _You have to get up and_ actually _change._

"You gonna eat that?" Morgan suddenly blurted, his mouth full of food, and she stared down at the untouched bagel on her own plate.

Funnily enough, she found herself smiling.

"Yeah," she said, "I am."

.

.

 _It was already dark by the time Beth found Zach in the library. He was on the floor with a torch and a book open in his lap._

 _She glanced at the title and smiled when she saw the label._

 _"_ _Thought you'd give it a read, huh?"_

 _He looked up from the book and grinned sheepishly._

 _"_ _You liked it," he said, "I wanted to see why."_

 _She sat down on the floor beside him and was surprised to see that he was already halfway through._

 _"_ _Did you find out why?"_

 _"_ _Well, it can't be because you like Isabelle. She's a real ass."_

 _Beth burst out laughing._

 _"_ _But," he continued, "I get it. I get why. She doesn't wanna hurt Stephen, she's married, but he frightens her. I think he reminds her of the life she could've had. Before she got married to her jerk of a husband. She wants to start again, but she can't."_

 _She nodded._

 _"_ _But Stephen . . . He went through something. The war changed him. Haunted him. He saw_ horrible _things."_

 _"_ _Do you think he can come back from it? Or will he be haunted by it forever?"_

 _He seemed to think about that._

 _"_ _I think he always will be. Anyone who went through something like that would."_

 _She nodded again._

 _"_ _. . . But . . . I think he can come back."_

 _She smiled wider._

 _"_ _Me too."_

 _He glanced down at the book and then back to her again, then asked, "Read it to me? I like it when you do the voices."_

 _Smiling, she took the book and continued from where he was. The light from the lamp was bright in the darkness and she could feel his warmth beside her. She forgot the dreams she had on the farm, and the pain, and the heartache. She forgot the scar on her wrist, which she kept covered with bangles and bracelets. Zach hadn't even seen it yet, but somehow, she didn't think he would judge her for it._

 _He understood Stephen. And pain. And sadness._

 _They read well into the night and the song in her heart started to play again._

 **.**

 **.**

* * *

 **Author's Corner**

 _Birdsong_ is a book written by Sebastian Faulks that is set during WW1 and it's honestly amazing. If you haven't read it and you like historical literature, seriously go pick up a copy from your nearest book store because you will not regret it. I thought it was relevant to include in the flashbacks here because it's fitting with the mood of the story and I feel like Beth's class would have studied it at some point before the world ended.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to review! It's so encouraging when I get to read your thoughts :)


	53. Rinse, repeat

**Author's Corner**

Thank you all so much for the kind reviews :') They really got me choked up.

Hopefully you all enjoy the chapter!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

Noah shifted down the hallways of The Sanctuary with a mop and a bucket, and stopped when he heard Simon and another Savior talking around one corner.

"They killed an entire outpost," the unknown voice hissed, "Murdered 'em in their sleep. They _deserve_ what's comin' to 'em."

"I never suggested I thought otherwise," was Simon's response, "But there needs to be a better plan of action before we go in there, guns a-blazing. With how easy they took out all our people in there, they could be armed to their _teeth_."

Noah's brows creased.

What were they talking about?

"So what're you suggestin'?"

"If we're gonna attack," Simon started, "It needs to be an _attack_. An ambush they won't see comin'. Their walls might be big, but they're nothing a few explosives can't handle."

The other Savior didn't reply for a while, but when he did, Noah felt chills run down his spine.

"There's been talk," he lowered his voice so much that Noah could almost barely hear. "People are sayin' this Alexandria shouldn't be messed with. If they can take out so many of us the way they did, what's to stop 'em from killin' us all?"

"Negan doesn't care how bigshot they think they are. He's gonna take their community just like he took Hilltop and The Kingdom, and he's gonna _kill_ their leader for what he did to our men."

Noah dropped the mop. The sound it made when it fell was ridiculously loud and echoed throughout the hallway. He panicked and went to pick it up, but Simon and the other Savior were already around the corner and staring down at him.

" _Hello_ , Noah," Simon greeted. "Enjoying your new job?"

Noah knew not to make a smart comment in response, and kept silent.

Simon laughed, "Don't worry about it, with your leg like that we can hardly have you runnin' around outside. You'd get yourself killed! This way, you can pull your weight in the community and keep outta trouble at the same time!"

"Why'd we take him in anyway?" his companion asked, "He has nothin' to offer us."

Simon shoved him and shook his head.

"That is not how we talk about our fellow comrades," he scolded, "He's human just like the rest of us. His job here doesn't define him."

"He could'a heard what we were just talkin' about."

"So what? He probably agrees that what we're doing is justice. For all our friends who were killed in their sleep. Right, Noah?"

"Right," Noah agreed reluctantly.

Simon grinned, "See? Now back to work, huh?"

The other Savior didn't seem convinced but still followed Simon until they were eventually out of Noah's sight and earshot.

Noah rose to his feet, panic flooding his system.

They were going to attack Alexandria. They were going to _kill_ Rick and anyone else who got in their way. But what was that about an outpost? And all the men Rick and the others had killed? That didn't sound like the group Noah had come to know, and he thought that surely, they must have first been provoked to carry out such an act.

But then he remembered Daryl, in the aftermath of Dawn pulling the trigger. The rage in his eyes and how quickly he drew his own gun and killed her where she stood.

Because she'd _murdered_ Beth.

Noah hadn't realised then that the people that followed Rick Grimes had been bred into lethal, ruthless, dangerous killers. It was how they'd survived. And if one of their own was harmed, or worse, killed, then they would absolutely fight back with every ounce of darkness that had manifested inside of them.

He left the mop and bucket and ran to the women's quarters, where Negan allowed his playthings to sit and drink bourbon until he beckoned them to fulfill his needs. Like a whorehouse.

It made Noah sick.

He jogged with his bad leg as quickly as he could and came face to face with Amber in the doorway. Her eyes were red and puffy like she'd been crying, and she frowned when she saw him. She had a bottle in her hand again and he felt even angrier at what Negan was doing to them all.

"Noah?" Frankie called, coming up behind her. "What are you doing here?"

"I need to talk to you all,"

"If someone catches you here you're screwed."

"They're planning an attack on Alexandria!" he lowered his voice to a hiss.

Amber's frown deepened. "What is that?"

"My home," he said, "It's where my friends are. I heard them talking. They don't know what's coming. I have to warn them or they'll die!"

Tanya rushed over, hearing his panicked words.

"Shh!" she hushed, "Someone will hear. Come on, quick."

She pulled him through the doorway and sat him down on a leather couch. Frankie and Amber followed and stared at him with their arms crossed. The two other women in the room lifted their heads and stared at him curiously, and Frankie signaled them over. They both had glossy raven hair and dark skin, and were also very beautiful. They were wearing black as well, those skin-tight black dresses Noah was certain Negan made them wear to deliberately show off their curves.

They were all like prostitutes, he thought, except they were probably treated worse.

"This is Odessa and Reema," Frankie introduced them.

"I'm Noah."

"Now, why have you come to us about this?" she asked, "Just what do you think we can do?"

"I know, you're just as much prisoners as I am, but there has to be some way I can get a message out or something. Anything. I have to tell them what's coming or they won't be ready to drive them away."

"No one can drive Negan away," Tanya said solemnly, "If he wants something, he will take it."

"I have to at least warn them."

They all glanced at each other and Noah recognised their looks as sadness. They were good at hiding it, but he could see their sorrow. His heart ached for them, and he thought of the wards at Grady. How they'd had no power and no safety. They didn't belong here, with a man like Negan controlling their every thought.

Noah hadn't seen Negan's face yet, but every time he heard the name his mind conjured up Dawn's face.

"If Dwight was still here, he could help us," Odessa murmured, and that perked Noah's intrigue.

"Who's Dwight?" he asked.

They all looked at each other again and he saw that same sadness.

"Dwight was a man under Negan's wing," Frankie answered, "He came here with his wife, Sherry, from Savannah, but Negan took her for himself and made Dwight one of the men that make The Sanctuary so powerful."

"But Dwight saw who Negan really was," Reema whispered, like Negan could walk in at any moment and catch them badmouthing him, which he could. "He wanted to leave and take Sherry with him, but Negan wouldn't let that happen. So, when he was caught trying to escape on his own, they killed him."

"He was a good man," Tanya said, and Noah felt their loss.

"What about Sherry?" he asked, "Where is she if she didn't try and escape with him?"

"She's gone," Amber answered, her voice lined with more bitterness than usual, "She made a break for it when the generator room blew up. Negan almost died when it happened. We would've been free too, but of course, he didn't . . . He never will."

"Why did it blow up?"

"One of the prisoners that escaped with Sherry lit it up," Frankie replied, "Gasoline is kept down there too so it wouldn't have been hard to make it go boom. Sherry helped them get out."

Hope sparked in Noah's heart. "Well if they got out, they could come back."

"Why would they do that?" Amber spat, "They'd have to be _stupid_ to come back here."

Noah stared down at his knees and bit the inside of his cheek. He wished Beth was here to help conjure up a plan of escape, but she wasn't. He was alone. He had to figure this out on his own, but he knew the approach they'd taken in Grady wouldn't work here. There was no elevator shaft, no easy way to swipe supplies, and there were at least ten times the amount of people in The Sanctuary than there had been in the hospital.

"I'm going to get you all out of here," he swore. "I don't know how, but I promise, I will."

Something like hope flashed across their features when he said that, and he knew he had to do everything in his power to get them as far away from this place as he could. But they needed a plan.

". . . There might be a way to deliver your message to your friends," Odessa said suddenly, "But it'll be risky."

Noah smiled.

Perhaps there was a potential plan in the works.

.

.

Morgan's house was the last house Edwards visited on his search for Beth, and he found her asleep on the couch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket.

He stared at the peaceful expression on her marred face and didn't know if he possessed the heart to wake her. She'd told him she'd been having bad dreams. He wasn't surprised that she was. She'd seen and endured more horrors than he could even imagine, and yet here she was with her heart still beating.

She looked like a child in that moment. The child that she was before her mask slid on and the scars and scrapes on her face twisted into shapes that looked like monsters.

"Hey," Morgan greeted quietly, exiting the kitchen to stand beside him. "Keep your voice down. She deserves to finally get some rest."

She did.

". . . Lilly took me down to the basement," Edwards whispered, "I came to here take her there and show her too."

Morgan looked over at the sleeping girl and smiled sadly.

"Let her sleep a little longer."

Edwards nodded despite the feeling of urgency and pushed his glasses back up his nose. He looked at her closed eyelids and slightly parted lips, and her chest which rose and fell steadily with each breath. Her hair was loose and was fanned out on the cushion she was laid against.

For someone who'd walked through so much darkness, her hair was still bright like the sun.

"Back in Savannah . . ." he said quietly, "You were going to leave after you went into Crawford with her and Molly. You were going to your own separate way."

Morgan shifted his eyes onto him.

". . . Why didn't you?"

Morgan looked back at Beth then, and Edwards thought he recognised something in his eyes. A feeling he shared, one she had evoked in them all.

"When we were in Crawford," Morgan breathed softly, "She told me somethin'. That even in a world of darkness and death, light still finds a way to shine through."

Edwards felt his heart skip a beat.

"Life is heavily desired, she said. There are still things worth living for. All life is _precious_. That's what she said. I didn't know how she could believe that, after everythin' that had happened, but now . . ."

He smiled, and then Edwards understood.

"She led us here."

She had been right to believe, but none of them had been able to see the way she had. And now . . . Now she was _suffering_ for saving them, and it was entirely _his_ fault.

Edwards balled his fist.

 _She saved my life as well_ , Morgan had said before.

She'd saved them all, and they'd done nothing but snuff out her flame.

"We'll show her in the morning," Edwards agreed, and left her to sleep peacefully for the first time in so many moons.

She was only a child. Just a girl. But her burdens of responsibility would rise with the sun, and he knew that there was nothing he could do to lighten them.

 **.**

 **.**


	54. The poison leaves bit by bit

**Author's Corner**

So, the season 8 premiere was last night. What did everyone think? I thought it was pretty good. It needed more Maggie though, but that's just my constant mood whenever I'm watching aha.

Thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews. Hopefully this chapter will make you feel a little more optimistic than the previous ones have. Life always makes it through, remember. Hold on to that and don't ever let go. Like Maggie said last night, we need to keep our faith in each other. Sure when she says it, she's talking about war, but the message can still be applied anywhere.

Always have faith, like Maggie and Beth say, and don't be afraid to believe.

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

 _"The poison leaves bit by bit, not all at once. Be patient. You are healing."_ — **Yasmin Mogahed**

.

.

Edwards was there when Beth woke up that next morning, sitting at the dinner table with Morgan. The two of them were playing with a stack of cards and she wandered over and studied their hands in a not so subtle fashion.

Morgan had the better hand.

To avoid revealing as such to Edwards, she tightened her lips and summoned her best poker face as she took a seat at the table.

There was a bowl of fresh peaches, chopped and floating in juice. She reached over without prompt and forked out a piece. Morgan and Edwards watched her as she ate freely, both their gazes simmering with some mutual concern. They seemed relieved she was eating without being forced, though.

"What is it?" she asked finally, swallowing a large piece of soggy fruit.

"You look . . . better." Edwards said, and she gave him a dry look.

"I know I look awful," she grumbled, "I have looked in a mirror lately."

"No, he's right," Morgan rebuked, "You do look better. Even if it's only a little."

 _Baby steps_ , her daddy used to say whenever she got sick and had to stay home from school. _You don't just suddenly get better all at once. It happens in baby steps._

"Why don't you go get yourself cleaned up?" Edwards asked, and she forced herself to smirk.

"I thought you said I looked better."

"A warm shower would do you good," Morgan smiled, "Go on, it's all yours. We'll wait."

Chewing down another chunk of peach, she rose from the chair and eventually nodded. She left them there to finish their game and climbed the stairs to the bathroom. It was practically identical to Maggie's, all the way down to the light blue tiles on the wall, and the memory of the taunting razor blades was still fresh in her mind.

She forced the memory away and removed her clothes.

She turned and looked at herself in the mirror. Her own face stared back at her through the stained mirror, but it wasn't _her_ face. It was a face which looked like hers, yet wasn't. Those were her eyes—now more grey than blue—and it was her blonde hair that also seemed to lack its once golden glow. Now, it was dull flaxen with an almost silver sheen. Even her lips were thinner, and the skin across her cheeks was tight, emphasising the new ghostly sharpness of her cheekbones.

Her gaze traveled down below her neck, and she grimaced at the same severity her collarbones shared. They stuck out like knives and her shoulders were like harsh bony points. Her breasts practically caved inward, and she could see the faint piano outline of her ribs as she straightened her posture. Her hip bones poked out in the same way her shoulders did. How she imagined her spine would be. Her flesh was colourless and grey, like her eyes.

She felt nauseous.

She had always been a little on the skinny side, but this . . . this was vulnerability. The mark of the world and the things she'd done.

The consequence.

There was little colour in her face either, and as she stared at herself—this new, unfamiliar version of the girl she no longer recognised—and wanted to sink to the floor and hold herself.

 _Get up_ , a voice whispered, and she felt bizarrely compelled to obey it.

 _Baby steps._

Stepping into the bathtub and turning the knob for the shower, she jumped as the spray of water erupted suddenly from the metal head and hit her face. The water was instantly warm, unlike back at the farm, where she leaped and squealed at the initial cold of the spray.

Shawn's bedroom had been next to their bathroom, so he always heard her yelp, and laughed.

She turned her head and stared at the wall across the room, half expecting to hear that wild laughter penetrating through it, but of course, there was nothing.

Just a ghost in the back of her closet.

Turning her face so it was back under the spray, she closed her eyes and let the water stream onto her, cleaning the vigorous lashes and stitches across her skin. Once she reopened them, she spotted a bottle of shampoo on the ledge and reached for it. It had a strong melon-like scent when she squeezed some into her hand and began scrubbing it onto her scalp.

She tried not to think of her mom whilst she did it.

She turned off the tap when she'd finished washing and went to reach for a towel, but stopped when she saw a shaving blade on the edge of the tub.

 _Baby steps, Bethy._

She stared at it, then picked it up.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, she picked up the soap and lathered it all along her legs. She reached for the razor and held it to her leg, then dragged it down carefully, removing the fair blonde hairs that had grown.

She ran a finger along the now smooth skin after and let out a ragged breath.

She shaved the rest of her legs, careful to remove every hair she could and not cut herself. After she was finished, she put down the razor blade and ran her hands along the silky surface of her legs.

 _You look better._

She ended up shaving underneath her armpits as well before changing into fresh clothes and going back downstairs.

Daryl was standing in the doorway when she got to the bottom of the stairs, and her eyes widened at the sight of him. He stared at her, eyes taking in her damp hair and clean clothes, and the towel draped around her shoulders.

He started to fidget when his gaze flickered downward, and looked away.

Confused, she glanced down at herself and flushed when she saw the white shirt she was wearing had turned slightly transparent at the front because of her wet hair, and she wasn't wearing a bra.

She covered herself with the towel.

"Where did you go?" she blurted, her voice coming out smaller than she'd intended.

Timid. _Weaker_.

She hated the sound of it.

"Was only gone for about ten minutes," he muttered, gaze still not meeting hers. "When I got back, you'd disappeared."

"Where did you go?" she repeated, firmer this time.

Stronger.

 _Baby steps._

He withdrew something from behind his back and she stilled when she saw what it was.

A jar of peanut butter was grasped in his hand and he held it out to her. She stared at it in a trance, like she'd been thrown back to that night with the candles and the pigs' feet.

The night she was taken from him.

"I knew Michonne had some," he mumbled, "Thought you might . . . Y'know . . . I thought you might like . . ."

A flutter of familiar warmth crept its way into her hollow chest.

She reached out and accepted the jar from him. It was unopened and spotless, exactly how it would look on the shelf of a store. She thought of a similar jar she'd held in her hands in the funeral home, only that one had been much more worn and ravaged.

"Thank you," she whispered, and he shrugged his shoulders awkwardly.

He looked up finally and met her gaze, and his eyes were nervous and flittering with a fraction of fear.

She stared at him, trying to read what he was thinking, but he voiced his thoughts aloud for her.

"I panicked when I got back an' you weren't there," he said, "It was like . . . It was like it happened all over again. Or like it was all just some dream, you being here."

The warm flutter in her chest bled into a sharp stab, and her expression soured with sadness. She'd been frightened when she woke up and he wasn't there too. It had been like waking up in Grady all over again, staring shocked at an alien ceiling and reaching for his hand, but finding it gone. It had happened every single day in that hospital. Opening her eyes and being swamped by terror and loneliness. The worst kind of fear she'd ever experienced.

She'd never wanted to feel that way again.

She shifted the peanut butter jar into one hand and reached for his at his side. He stiffened and she squeezed his fingers, as if she could squeeze the heartbreak and fear right out of him. A fool's whim, really, but she didn't let go.

He stared down at their joined hands, his eyes wide and startled.

". . . I'm _sorry_ ," she whispered, her voice a gentle caress as she stroked his palm with her thumb. "I'm sorry for leaving you alone."

Her fingers continued brushing against his and his eyes glimmered with something that sent the wild fluttering feeling right back into her stomach. Butterflies, they felt like. Stupid, stupid butterflies. She remembered the sensation, though she hadn't felt them in a while, and she wondered why they'd been dormant for as long as they had. Why those stupid little butterflies had gone away and abandoned her too.

Perhaps they'd been incinerated when the bullet hit her skull. Maybe they'd drowned in her blood. Or maybe they'd just been sleeping . . . waiting for someone to wake them up again.

Morgan's voice made them both jump as he walked into the front room.

Edwards followed behind and adjusted his glasses when he came to stand beside him.

The two of them were smiling.

Beth felt her cheeks growing warm, and she let go of Daryl's hand.

"There, you see," Morgan said, "You look much better now."

She lifted her shoulders and felt a tiny smile pulling at her lips. "I _feel_ better."

"I expect you would with that hot water. Pretty impressive supply to say we're in the damned apocalypse." He started laughing when her smile finally did emerge and she rubbed at her hair with the towel.

"Did you eat yet?" Edwards asked Daryl, and he shook his head.

"Nah. Didn't feel like it."

Beth's smile faded and she thought of him, worrying in her absence and unable to eat. She wondered how he'd felt during the long months of their separation, and the dark, dark time he believed she was dead.

"Did you see Maggie this mornin'?" she asked, suddenly remembering how she'd mysteriously fled from her bed in the night.

"I didn't," Daryl shook his head.

She rubbed at her hair one final time in an attempt to dry it out, then put down the towel and put on a large orange sweater. "I have to go find her," she said, "I ran out last night without telling her. She'll be worrying—"

 _Will she?_

She hissed that part of her mind away.

 _She didn't worry much about you when she was on her way to D.C. with Abraham and the rest of them._

 _Shut up_ , she almost snapped out loud, but swallowed the words and made her way towards the door.

"Beth!" Edwards called suddenly, and she turned back to face him.

His expression was nervous and he had his hands balled at his sides. Dread was gleaming away in his eyes behind the frames of his glasses, and the severity of it alarmed her.

". . . What?" she asked, weary.

He stood silent for a while longer, before eventually opening his fists and looking away.

His eyes shone with silent pain.

"Never mind," he said, "It's nothing."

Something told her that it wasn't nothing.

"Don't worry," Morgan chimed in, like the two of them were on the same mysterious wavelength. "Go to Maggie. It can wait 'til you're ready."

But what was it that could wait?

And how would she know when she would be ready for whatever it was?

"C'mon," Daryl prompted, giving her arm a tiny push. "I'll go with you."

She gave him a nod and walked through the door behind him, casting Edwards one quick glance before he was out of her sight.

They walked down the street and she found she was glad for the sweater when she felt the chill of the late autumn air. Winter was almost upon them, and the branches of the trees were almost bare.

She remembered last winter, trapped in the hospital with nothing but the occasional look out of her window to remind her that the world was still turning without her knowledge. Rick and the rest had been trapped in train cars, she'd come to learn. Captives of a place called Terminus.

They'd all been prisoners.

Maybe this year would be like their first winter together. The one she saw as good now, despite the hunger and the hardships. That winter was the mark of their bond. All of them. They'd lived, ate, slept, and breathed together, reduced to their animal states. Whilst they were starving, they'd forged trust. Friendship.

 _Family._

Those cold, snow-dusted days had been the mark of their close-knit unit.

Perhaps this winter could be the revival.

"You ok?"

She glanced up at Daryl and nodded again, clutching the jar of peanut butter in her hands.

"I'm fine. Just thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"The winter after the farm."

His expression changed then and she knew he felt the same way about it that she did.

"We almost starved," he mumbled.

"We did," she agreed, yet found herself smiling. "That's when my dad grew to really like you all, you know."

Daryl flushed and rebuked, "I wouldn't say he _really_ liked me."

"But he did," she said, "You know he loved you."

He looked at her then and there was that grimace of remorse he'd had after the prison.

 _Maybe I could'a done something._

"He loved _you_ ," he whispered. "You an' Maggie, he lived for the two of you. He would'a done anythin' if it meant keepin' the both of ya safe."

Her smile widened and her eyes started to wobble.

"I know. He was a great man."

"I'm sorry I couldn't save him."

She shook her head at his whisper. "No, there was nothing any of us could've done. You know that. And besides . . ."

He waited for her to finish her sentence, and the lump in her throat tripled.

"Besides . . . He was smiling."

Daryl reached out and took her hand. She squeezed his fingers and they walked towards Maggie and Glenn's house, afraid of what would happen if she let go. If she had a choice, she would never let go. She would weld her hand to his with melted gold, so they would never have to be apart again.

A flash of orange caught her eye and she lifted her head to see a star leaf fall from a branch. It got caught on a wind and she watched as it was thrust up and over the wall, before it flew away out of sight. Far, far away, out into the open world.

Could she do that too?

 _Baby steps, Beth,_ she heard in the back of her mind, and blinked the tears away. They walked over the fallen leaves, hand in hand, and the corners of her mouth quirked in an almost smile.

 _Life always makes it through._

.

.

Maggie tackled her with a hug before she could even make it up the porch steps, and breathed a sigh of relief into her hair.

"Oh, thank god," she whispered into her neck, and Beth brought her hands up to rub her back. "When I woke up an' you were gone, and when Glenn told me you'd just run off . . ."

She pulled back and held her by the shoulders. The intensity in her green eyes threw Beth, and she blinked.

"I was so worried about you."

Beth felt herself smiling, and reached to cup Maggie's cheeks. "I'm fine," she assured, and Maggie kissed the inside of her palm.

Glenn came out of the front door then. His eyes took her in and then shifted to Daryl, and a huge grin slowly spread across his face. She wondered what had prompted it until he spoke.

"So _that's_ where you ran off to, huh?" he said with a twinkle in his eyes, and she felt her cheeks heat up at the implication.

"What? _No_! I—"

"Don't even try to defend yourself," he cut her off with a laugh, "You've been caught red-handed! Busted!"

"Knock it off!" Daryl yelled, about as embarrassed as she was, "That ain't how it is."

Glenn started laughing harder when Daryl lunged towards him, then he leaped over the porch ledge and started sprinting down the street. Daryl chased him, yelling something incohesive, leaving Maggie laughing hysterically and Beth's cheeks bright pink.

"It isn't like that," she clarified quickly, "Seriously, we're not . . . We didn't . . ."

Maggie chuckled and combed her fingers through Beth's damp hair. "We know. Glenn's just teasin'," she smiled, "He likes to get a rise outta Daryl."

The pinkness of Beth's face faded slightly and she smiled. Her heart thudded with a sense of giddiness she hadn't felt for so long, and for once the dreaded throbbing in her temples was gone. Completely gone.

She felt better.

"Everybody would be okay with it though," Maggie added, and Beth briefly wondered what she was talking about until she elaborated, "You and him, I mean. We all know what you both went through. No one would have a problem with it."

"It's not . . . like that," Beth said again, "I don't know how to explain it to you, it's just . . . He makes me feel like things can get better. You know? . . . It feels like it can't sometimes."

Maggie's smile grew. "I know. It's good to have someone who makes you feel like that."

She tucked her gleaming blonde hair behind her ears and stroked her cheeks. It was highly soothing, and for the first time since the prison, Beth felt like she was home.

"It can get better. I promise."

It was a promise she believed.

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 **Author's Corner**

*whispers* please review


	55. Red Riding Hood

**Author's Corner**

Thank you for the fantastic reviews! Here's another chapter earlier than usual because I was feeling nice. This one is quite lengthy too so settle down and make yourself a cup of tea or something. Enjoy!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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She saw Edwards walking by when she was sitting on the hanging swing on the porch. Standing, she approached him, noticing the way he fidgeted as she came closer. His sudden nerves and the impression he was hiding something from her evoked a pang of sadness in her chest.

They were supposed to trust each other.

"What were you tryin' to say before?" she asked.

He avoided her gaze and she bit the inside of her cheek.

He squirmed again and lifted a hand to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Reaching out, she took his hand, which made him jolt in surprise and finally meet her eyes. She held his gaze, trying to convey the hurt she felt and the confidence that she would listen to whatever he said.

She wondered if he would even understand it.

His fingers trembled against hers.

"I thought we could tell each other anything."

He opened his mouth and closed it again. She waited as a flurry of conflicting emotions swirled in his stormy eyes.

". . . You're finally happy," he murmured, and her expression softened. "Since you found them, you've been happy. You were sad for so long . . . I didn't want to ruin that."

She wasn't always happy, but she didn't say that to him.

There was something in his voice. Something she only caught a glimpse of, and it made her go still.

 _It's not just them that matter._

"Tell me," she urged, "Please."

His face screwing up, he finally sighed and seemed to give in.

"There's something I have to tell you. Show you. I don't want to."

"What is it?"

His face held the sadness of an outsider.

She bit her lip.

"This way," he said, "I'll take you."

He led her through the winding streets of Alexandria, each turn they took growing more and more vacant of people. A strange feeling arose in her gut. A feeling of oncoming dread. She caught a glimpse of Edwards's expression and found that same unease in his tight mouth.

Whatever it was he was trying to show her, he definitely didn't want to do it.

Eventually, they reached a house on the outskirts of the safe zone. The wall loomed above them, towering and ominous. She knew it was to keep them safe, that it was to keep threats—both dead and alive—out . . . yet she couldn't shake the feeling it made the place feel like a cage.

Edwards climbed the front steps of the house and then turned to wait for her to follow. She swallowed and walked up the steps. She wouldn't be afraid of this. She _wasn't_ afraid.

It was easier to be afraid.

She refused to take the easy path. She wanted to be bright and powerful. Good-hearted and strong. She wanted people to rely on her like they did Rick, and she wanted them to believe in her. But that wasn't all . . .

She wanted to be brave.

"You don't have to protect me," she told Edwards as she reached him, "I don't need to be sheltered from it anymore. I can handle it."

"I know."

He opened the door and she walked through and into the coldness of the house.

It was dark inside, the power off and the curtains drawn. Spears of light spilled in as the drapes shifted with the wind and filled the room with a pale grey glow. Shadows crawled in the corners and across the carpet, and the unearthly chill caressed Beth's skin with its cold clammy fingers. The feeling of wrongness in her stomach intensified as the sensation of invisible claws stroked along her cheeks and neck.

Furniture was tipped over sideways and the coffee table at the center of the room was broken, shattered glass pooling out like a hundred tiny diamonds. Blood was mixed in with the pieces, dying them a deep crimson, and she studied the cracked photo frames on the walls.

"What happened here?" she breathed.

"Apparently this place belonged to a family," Edwards answered, "At the start of the turn, when the community had just started, there was an accident. One of the children was diabetic, and during the night he had a heart attack. He turned . . . then wound up killing his entire family. The leaders of the zone found them all the next morning, dead. The boy hadn't been bitten, but he'd still turned. It was the first inside problem they'd had."

The coldness lapped at Beth's flesh and she shivered.

"And they never cleaned it up afterward?"

"I guess they couldn't bring themselves to."

Turning away from the devastation, she faced him. "Why'd you bring me here?" She'd asked him those same words before, down on the ground floor of the hospital, and she knew he was remembering too.

". . . This was the only place we could think to keep him," he said finally.

Her brow creased.

" _Him_?"

He walked towards a door and opened it. It was even darker through it, she noticed, staring down the wooden steps to what she presumed was the basement. No wind came from down there, nor light. There was only nothingness.

She turned to look at Edwards and bit her lip, then asked very quietly, "Will you come with me? . . . So I won't be alone?"

Mouth curving into a faint smile, he took her hand and smiled. A smile played on her own mouth and she turned to stare into the darkness again. Taking a deep breath, she tightened her grip on his hand and slowly walked down the dust-kissed steps. They creaked when pressure was applied, and she winced at the sounds.

Soon, they reached the bottom and she squinted her eyes to see better. The ghostly outlines of the walls were only just visible in the dimness and she picked out cracks in the ceiling above them, like veins underneath skin. She felt the stitches in her face prickle at the low temperature, and began making her way down the eerie corridor. The echo of Edwards's steps alongside her own was her only consolation, but when they merged with hers for the briefest of moments, she felt a flare of panic at being all alone in the dark.

 _I'm not alone_ , she reminded herself, and gave the hand in hers a firm squeeze.

 _I'm not alone._

That corridor seemed to go on forever, stretching out and out for all eternity like they were trapped together in the depths of Hell. Maybe they were. Maybe they'd never escaped the prison bars of Grady, and everything that had happened after had simply been the happenings of a very realistic dream.

Maybe they'd burned with it.

At last, it finally came to an end, and Beth picked out the silhouettes of Shepherd and Tanaka. They lifted their heads as she and Edwards approached, and in their eyes was that same subdued tension she'd seen in Edwards's. A door stood between them, wooden and old, and it almost seemed sentient, as if it were watching her with two unseen eyes.

"What's in there?" she asked finally, unable to bear the strangling vagueness. " _Who_ is in there?"

Tanaka's grimace was tight.

"Someone just as bad as Negan and his men," he answered.

" _Tell_ me."

"You need to see him," Shepherd said, "Once you've seen him, and made your judgement, you can tell us what to do with him."

Beth frowned. "What do you mean? What judgement?"

"What she's saying," Edwards filled in for her, "Is that if you want to keep him alive, we will. But if you want him dead . . . he's dead. The decision is yours to make."

"Tell me," she demanded, "Who the _hell_ is in there?"

Tanaka reached for the doorknob and turned it. The door swung open slowly to reveal an equally dark room. Tired of the suspense, Beth pulled her hand out of Edwards's and strode in, turning the corner and stopping dead in her tracks at what she found around it. Edwards was on her heels and came to stop beside her, staring at her worriedly as her eyes slowly filled with horror.

Morgan and Dwight met her gaze.

The former was kneeling beside a lamp, and the latter stood with his arms folded by the wall. Beth wondered what they were doing down here, until her eyes strayed past them and saw the third person, who was on the ground in shackles . . .

The Wolf lifted his head and a look of sheer delight bled into his feral features at the sight of her. "Well, would ya look at that!" he beamed, eyes narrowing, "Long time no see, sweetheart."

She summoned a ferocious glare.

"What the hell is _he_ doin' here?!" she hissed at Morgan and Dwight, and the Wolf barked out a violent laugh.

His eyes gleamed with savagery, and she balled her fists at the mocking in them.

"Surprised to see me, huh?" he drawled, "Bet ya never thought ya would again after stringin' me to a tree and leavin' me there."

She ignored him and focused her glare on Morgan and Dwight.

Morgan rose his hands and answered her.

"He attacked us in the woods. He was gonna kill us."

"So why didn't you just kill _him_?"

"I couldn't do that."

"Why not?!"

Morgan's eyes shone with something she almost recognised.

Something that had been lost to her a long time ago.

"Because that's not who I am anymore," he said, "I'm not that person anymore."

The rage in her faltered and she thought back to the first time she met him. Damaged, angry and alone. Like her. All he'd known back then was death, and darkness, and more death. He had the same bloodthirsty rage in him that she had in her now.

Goodness danced in his inky eyes, and she felt a stab of pain as she remembered her humanity.

The humanity she had abandoned trying to find Rick and the others.

She thought of her dream. Of the mirror images of her—imposters. The one that had taunted and tried to break her, it wasn't an imposter, it was who she was now. Ruthless, uncaring, cruel. Somewhere along the way, she'd lost sight of what she was running towards, and become what she hated. The same as The Governor, and Dawn, and Negan . . . She'd sealed off her heart and forgotten what mattered. What mattered the _most_ , beyond all else, even in this world that demanded no mercy or kindness or love . . .

She'd forgotten she was still human.

Her expression lost some of that ferocity and she unballed her fists.

Morgan was still looking at her with those damned eyes, so she tore her gaze away from him.

"Don't you be that person either," he pleaded.

"Why shouldn't I?"

"Because . . . Even in a world of darkness and death like this one . . . Light still finds a way to shine through."

Tidal waves drowned her heart and she felt her knees weaken. Her eyes were huge when she looked up at him again, lips parting as she recalled being the one to say those words to him.

He'd remembered them.

He remembered what she told him.

 _You gotta create what you wanna be a part of_ , she'd said. _We have to shape our future, we have a say in what it'll be like._

Was that still true? She didn't know if she believed it anymore, but Morgan . . .

Morgan believed.

Somehow, he did.

Dwight coughed to catch her attention. "Sorry to interrupt the philosophy lecture, but you don't really believe we can let him live, do ya? He's a monster. He deserves to die."

Beth turned her head and regarded him. The strong intensity simmering in her eyes startled him, because his non-burnt eye widened ever so slightly and a muscle in his jaw tightened. Whilst she'd been playing house with Maggie, they'd been down here dealing with this. They were supposed to be a team. Her and Dwight. All of them, they were supposed to be a team. But she'd forgotten that in the midst her own selfishness.

She wasn't the only one with demons.

"It doesn't matter what he deserves," she said to him. "What matters is what's right."

He stared at her, bewildered and frustrated.

"You made me _beat_ him for answers you wanted. The way he spoke to ya, the way he _looks_ at you . . . D'you really think that's right?"

"No. It's not."

"Then why?"

She looked at Morgan and said, "Because you gotta create what you wanna be a part of."

Something stirred in Morgan's eyes and she knew he understood.

The Wolf piped up then, lifting his head and shifting his feet, causing the chains binding them to grate against the floor. They all turned to look at him, and he propped his arm up against his leg.

"Ya want me to talk?" he snickered, "Alright. I'll talk. But only to her."

Dwight moved forward, "Like hell you will—"

"Fine," Beth cut him off.

The Wolf grinned and Dwight stared at her like she was crazy.

"You _can't_ be serious," he said, and she gave him a firm look.

"I am."

He scanned her eyes for an ulterior motive and she could see the apprehension on his own face. She studied the burned side of it and her expression softened.

"You don't have to be worried," she said, "I walked away from Negan, and he wasn't in chains or unarmed. I can do this."

"I never said ya couldn't."

She reached out and took his hands. He seemed startled by it and his eyes flitted down once and then back up to her. She held his gaze steadily, digging deep into her mess of a heart for the memory of a girl who'd known how to reassure people. That girl wasn't dead, because she answered the call, and suddenly Beth remembered a little of who she was.

"I can do this," she repeated. "Please . . . _Trust_ me."

His pupil dilated and she knew he was remembering their first meeting when she warned him about the oncoming herd. He hadn't believed her then, but she'd been right.

 _I know you don't trust me._

She needed him to believe her now.

". . . Alright," he mumbled finally, "I trust ya."

She smiled and his mouth tightened.

Letting go of his hands, she shifted her eyes to Edwards and nodded. He returned the gesture and left the room with Morgan. Dwight lingered for a moment, still unsure, but eventually, he shifted to leave as well. He cast her one last glance over his shoulder before he was gone, and she was left on her own in the dark room with the Wolf.

" _Beth_ ," he greeted as she turned around, and she tried to hide her surprise that he knew her name. "Such a pretty name. Suits ya."

"And I'm guessing you still won't tell me your name," she said, and moved to crouch on the floor in front of him. His eyes were dark and half-crazed. He reminded her of a feral animal.

"Heard ya crossed paths with The Saviors," he remarked casually.

"Word travels fast considering you're trapped in a cellar."

"How'd it go?"

She recalled the fire that had engulfed the underground of The Sanctuary, and Negan's wrath-filled stare through the golden flames.

She remembered forcing the axe into Jake's stomach, watching as the life bleed from his eyes.

Matty crept into her memory then, and she bit her tongue to prevent herself from wincing. Sometimes she still heard his screams and the blood-curdling sound of Negan's bat colliding with his skull.

"I killed them," she said simply. "I killed Negan."

The Wolf laughed, saliva spraying out through his rotted teeth as he curled over and howled in hilarity. " _Killed_ him? Oh, really? Ya honestly believe that?"

"I set fire to his base. He burned with the rest of them."

Ceasing his laughter, The Wolf leaned in close to her and flashed a hideous smile.

"How can ya be sure?" he asked quietly, "Did ya stick around an' _watch_ him burn to a cinder?"

Her eyes narrowed and she stared at him with dark, fury-blazing eyes.

"He's _dead_."

"Whatever ya say, sweetheart."

Beth laced her fingers together and rested them together on her knees. "Call me sweetheart again and I'll find another tree to tie you to."

His brows quirked. "Anything'd be better than this dark stink hole."

"You don't like it down here? Good. You hardly deserve to be comfortable."

"Thought it 'didn't matter what I deserve'?"

A glimmer flared in his eyes and he leaned forward even farther. Beth frowned at how close he was getting, but refused to shift back.

". . . You hate me," he said finally, like he was surprised. "You really hate me . . . Why?"

She ignored the question.

"When we first met, you told me Alexandria was a bad place. You said they _took_ people, and that I was never gonna see my friends again. You were wrong."

"Maybe about findin' yer friends, but not about this place."

"What do you mean?"

"Just look at it. Clean. Walled. Folks in here ain't never seen nothin' worse than a paper cut. An' yet these are the people who survived this long? That's bullshit an' you know it."

Her pulse quickened as she remembered the feeling of entrapment that came with living inside giant walls. Refusing to show him that panic, she forced it away and strengthened her glare.

"I don't know what you're talking about. The walls keep this place safe. Secure."

"But I _know_ people like you. Ya try an' pretend yer all civilised, but the truth is you're no different than me."

"I am _nothin'_ like you."

"Deny it all ya want, but yer a wild thing, girly. I can see it in yer eyes. You're made of ash an' cinders. Ya belong in shadows. An' nightmares."

She shook her head slowly, squeezing her fingers into her kneecaps.

"You're insane."

"And yet I still see right through ya. Bet none o' those friends that left ya do."

Ignoring his taunting, she clenched her teeth together and gathered her composure. She would not be broken by this creature—this _thing_. She wasn't a piece of fragile china anymore. She was a wolf too, and she intended to show it.

"What is it you wanna talk about?" she asked, "You might wanna make a speech begging for forgiveness, because I'm holding your life right in the palms of my hands."

His lips curved into another ugly smile. "Still as cold as ever. No, unfortunately, what I gotta say isn't a plea for mercy, but I think it might be enough to change yer mind about killin' me."

"And why do you think that?"

"Because I have information."

"Information on who?"

" _Negan_."

Frustrated, she pulled out her pickaxe and slammed it down on the ground. It made a loud noise and sent vibrations quaking across the ground. "I already told you, Negan is dead!" she yelled, "There was no way he could've survived something like that. He might be tough, but he's no god."

His eyes narrowed.

"An' yet . . . you're still scared."

"I'm not."

"What'd he do? It must'a been pretty bad for you to react like this. Lemme guess. He make ya one of his wives?"

She thought of Sherry, trapped and afraid of a man who forced her to love him. She thought of all the other women he undoubtedly had doing the same, and that harsh side of her mind stabbed at her with criticism.

 _You should've saved the rest of them too,_ it said. _Not just Sherry. But you didn't. You were too busy saving your own ass that you didn't even think about them. And now they're still trapped there, frightened and suffering._

 _I'll get them out_ , she argued back.

 _It's too late. They probably burned along with their captors in the fire you started . . . You killed them._

She bit down on her tongue and tightened her grip on the pickaxe.

"He killed my friend. He beat him to death right in front of us. There was nothing I could do. He's dead."

"So ya were out for revenge?"

"Yes. And I got it."

He nodded slowly, fingers tapping on his shackles and making rhythmic metal sounds.

"Yer funny," he said eventually, "At first glance, ya seem nothin' more than a spooked little filly with big doe eyes. But really . . . You have what it takes to _destroy_ a man. Trick 'em with her sweet little smile, throw 'em off guard, and then, _bam_. You got 'em right where you want 'em."

She tilted her head to the side and considered the words. Dwight had said she was scary, after their first showdown with the Wolf.

 _You're pretty damn ruthless, you know that?_

He was right. She'd been willing to declare war on both Alexandria and Negan if it meant getting Rick and the others back. Gone was the gentle girl from before who had danced through the cell blocks and hummed a tune as she did laundry.

She'd been waiting for her to come back, she realised, but she wasn't coming back.

She was never coming back.

Beth thought of her daddy, and her mom, and Shawn, and Patricia, and Otis. They wouldn't recognise her now, she thought sadly. The girl she was now wasn't the girl they'd known who rode horses through the fields and gathered eggs every morning. All she had were memories of that girl, which sometimes answered when she called them.

Now, she was something else, and even though she might hate the fact that she'd lost herself . . . She had to accept it.

 _You're a force, Beth Greene. An honest t'god, motherfuckin' force._

She thought she might be able to live with that, at least.

"Talk," she ordered, "Talk or I will bring Dwight back in here and get him to make you again."

"No need. I'm already willin'."

"So go."

He shifted his hands in the shackles and sat up straighter.

"One o' our guys used to live in a place called the Hilltop," he said, "Before he joined us, he said The Saviors came an' demanded that they worked for 'em. If they didn't, they'd die. Hilltop's leader, Gregory, agreed to the terms 'cause he was a coward. So now they live to serve Negan."

"And what does that have to do with us?"

"The Hilltop is only a few miles away from this place. Do ya really think that if Negan conquered there, he's gonna leave _you_ alone?"

Her glare subdued and she lowered herself to sit fully on the floor. "Daryl, Sasha, and Abraham blew up a bunch of them with a rocket launcher," she told him, horror dawning on her features against her will. "And Rosita told me they all snuck into one of their compounds one night, and slit their throats in their sleep."

The Wolf chuckled. "So this place has more Savior blood on its hands than anywhere. An' _you_ . . . You left the man himself behind in a fiery pit, hopin' he'd die for what he did to yer friend."

"If he is alive— _if_ . . . What do I do?"

"Ain't nothin' ya can do to stop him. Ya murdered his pups, an' the big bad wolf is pissed. Now he's gonna come an' blow your whole house down."

"Tell me how to stop him."

"I told ya, there ain't no way to—"

" _Tell_ me how to _stop_ him!"

He laughed again and she contemplated slamming the handle of her pickaxe into his head. However, as he continued, she thought more carefully about what he'd said. There was no distinctive proof Negan was alive, but there had to be a way to find out.

He spoke of a place called the Hilltop. A community close by, working as slaves for The Sanctuary. If Negan and his men truly were still alive, then surely they would know? If they were dead, the Hilltop would be freed from their cruel masters. But if they weren't dead . . .

"Why tell me all this?" she asked, eyes narrowing as she scowled curiously, "What do you get in return?"

His smile was skeletal, thin grey flesh stretched out across bone. He leaned in so close she could almost taste his putrid breath, and whispered.

"My freedom."

"No."

"But I told ya valuable info. Now ya can prepare for an inevitable attack, which _is_ comin', even if you won't believe it."

"I'm not releasin' you."

" _Why not_?!"

Glimpsing down at his shackles, she smiled despite the situation, which turned his grin into a baffled frown.

"How many women have you hurt?" she asked finally.

The _'W'_ on his forehead creased.

"What?"

"When you first saw me, you called me all those gross pet names. You still call me them, no matter how much I threaten you. You're not afraid of me, an' I think I know why."

"An' why is that, _Beth_?"

"Because I'm a girl. A young girl, too. And that's all you see when you look at me, even though

you say I'm just like you. My insides might be as rotten as yours, but on the outside, I'm just a girl with 'big doe eyes', which is why you'll never think I have any power over you . . . But you're wrong. I do have power, and I'm more than just a pretty face. I'm the one who decides if you get to live. I have _all_ the power, whereas you have nothing."

"You won't kill me. Ya might be heartless, but you don't have it in ya."

"Are you sure? I left you strapped to a tree. You could've been eaten alive by walkers and I didn't care."

"Yer all bark an' no bite, my pretty," he purred.

She stood up. The Wolf's eyes strayed down to the axe in her hand, and she cocked her head to the side, staring down at him. He might not see her for who she was now, but he had no real power over her.

In that moment, he was no more than an animal in a trap.

"How many?" she repeated.

"I don't know."

"How _many_?"

"I lost count after double digits."

Her eyes darkened and she lifted the axe and held it in front of his face. His eyes were fixed on the sharp point, and she pushed it forward so that it touched his throat. Not hard enough to pierce his flesh, but hard enough to get her message across.

"All those women," she spat, "They all had lives you ruined. And you didn't care. So this is your punishment."

"What is? Death?"

They stared into each other's eyes for what felt like hours.

"Do it," he urged, "Be the person I know ya are. Succumb to the shadows."

Morgan flashed into her head and she hesitated.

 _He'd_ changed. He'd been broken and alone but he changed. It hadn't been too late for him.

He didn't want more blood on his hands.

 _That's not who I am anymore._

How much blood was on hers?

She bit the inside of her cheek. Hard. Her knuckles were white from gripping the handle of the pickaxe, and she held the Wolf's gaze with a burning in her own.

"You think you know me," she said, "But you don't. Nobody knows what I am anymore, or what I can do. And I'll tell you this . . . I won't kill you." His brow crinkled and the _'W'_ looked like it was frowning at her. "You are terrible, and repulsive, and wrong. About _everything_. So you're gonna stay down here for the rest of your _miserable_ life, never seeing the sun . . . and you're gonna live."

She smiled as he struggled in his restraints and gave her a murderous glare.

"That's the greatest punishment I could ever give you."

"Just kill me!" he yelled, writhing and trying to lurch forward towards her. "Lemme go or kill me, you fuckin' coward!"

"Dwight!" she yelled, and the door burst open.

Dwight, Morgan, and Edwards rushed in and stood behind her anxiously. She didn't turn to face them, and kept her eyes locked with the Wolf's. They waited for her command, and her smile widened the more their prisoner thrashed.

"No one kills him," she said, "He stays down here and he never comes out."

"I'll fuckin' _kill_ ya!" he spat from the ground, and she lowered her pickaxe, knowing full well that she had won.

"Gag him," she told Dwight, "We don't want anyone hearin' him scream when they walk by."

Dwight came forward and tied a strip of cloth around his head, muffling his screams and shouts. She never tore her eyes away from his as it happened, and her smile refused to waver.

 _It's who you are that matters._

 _Not the person you used to be._

"You were right," she turned to Morgan, "That's not who I am. That's not who I wanna be."

 _I can be anything and everything._

 _I can be the winner._

He reached out and placed a hand on her arm, and she gave him a gentle nod.

Edwards was looking at her as well, something akin to pride present in his eyes, and she smiled at him. He smiled back then walked out of the room, with her following him out of the shadows and back into the sunlight.

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	56. Blind

**Author's Corner**

To the reviewer asking about Tara, don't worry, I haven't forgotten about her. She (and where she is currently) will be addressed later. Lilly is one of the main central POVs of this fic, so of course I'll be exploring her relationship with her when/if they reunite. And to the reviewer asking about the lineup with Negan and Maggie's role with the Hilltop, you'll have to wait and see how those things play out here. Obviously I don't want to just rehash exactly the same thing the show did, but I do think Maggie's leadership role is important to her character, so without spoiling too much... You might see something similar to that take place in this fic.

Thanks for all your comments and questions, I hope you'll continue to enjoy reading. And don't forget to keep reviewing!

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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Lilly Chambler had never been afraid of the dark, but that night she was.

She woke up on the couch with Gregg nestled into her side and glanced down at him. It was the middle of the night and he was sleeping soundly, dark lashes long and soft looking against his cheeks. She gently ran a hand through his chestnut hair and eased him onto his back on the sofa, then got up.

Effy slumbered on the chair beside the couch, and Lilly smiled at her contented expression. Her long hair pooled down her shoulders like thick coffee, and the lemon-yellow jumper she wore was a huge juxtaposition against it.

Confident that she could leave Gregg with her, Lilly crept towards the door and left the house.

Despite the sanctuary they'd found, she still carried her gun with her wherever she went.

It made her feel safe, even hidden inside the walls of Alexandria.

Outside was cold, fall in full swing now and the air biting with cold. She walked down the streets and listened to the sound of her shoes crushing the crispy brown leaves on the ground. Fall had been Meghan's favourite season. Tara's too. She remembered the days they would run through piles of fallen leaves and dance underneath the marigold trees, wrapped up in coats and scarves. Those days felt so very far away, and sometimes Lilly struggled to remember her father's face.

She thought of him in his sickbed before he turned. She wondered if there was a decorum in dying before seeing how dreadful the world had become. Before he could see his granddaughter brutally mauled and murdered by a corpse.

The streets of the safe zone led her to one of the walls, and she lifted her head to stare up at it. There was a sense of watchfulness about it, she thought, as if it was alive and staring back. Ignoring the feeling, she climbed the ladder and stood on the platform overlooking the world beyond the zone. It was even colder up there, and she cursed herself for not bringing a jacket.

"Lilly?" a voice echoed from below.

She turned and looked down over the barrier, and saw Sherry staring up at her from the ground below.

She couldn't see her face from such a distance and in the dark, but eventually, she climbed up the ladder and joined her on the platform. An awkward silence stretched between them, and Lilly wondered what to say to her, until Sherry ended up being the one to break the silence.

"I had a fight with Dwight," she said, and Lilly tilted her head to look at her.

"About what?"

"Just . . . It was about Negan."

Lilly saw the dismay in her face and chewed her lip. "You were his prisoner, right?"

Sherry breathed a bitter laugh. "Prisoner. He didn't call it that."

"It's over now. You're not a prisoner anymore."

"I still feel like one. The things I had to do . . . That wasn't me. It was all a big lie to keep him happy and from hurting Dwight . . . But the one thing I couldn't prevent was how having to watch me lie would hurt him. I didn't want to hurt him."

Lilly felt a flare of sympathy and turned back to stare at the expanse of trees beyond the zone.

"I know how it feels to be with someone you know is a monster," she whispered.

Sherry seemed to think about that, and she rested her hands on the metal of the wall.

"How did you get through it after? How did you forget you'd been with someone like that?"

Lilly didn't have the heart to tell her she'd _never_ forgotten.

Not for a single day.

". . . You just have to remind yourself that it's done," she said finally, "That he's dead, and he can't hurt you anymore."

Dead.

The Governor was dead.

Nodding, Sherry turned her head towards her and smiled sadly. The youth in her expression startled her, and for the smallest of seconds, she almost saw Meghan.

"I don't think Dwight loves me anymore," she admitted. "Not the way he used to."

Lilly wondered if they were all too broken now to love anything. Maybe the scars on their hearts had cut too deep, and all the tenderness and compassion had spilled out.

She knew her heart had broken the day her father died, and the pieces just kept shattering to even smaller pieces with every awful thing that happened. Meghan. Tara. It was a miracle there was still an organ left to pump blood around her body. Her chest felt so hollow and empty.

"I'm sorry," she said in response instead, "That must suck."

"Yeah. But at the same time, it kind of felt like a long time coming."

"Really?"

"I mean, we always had our problems, but maybe the end of the world showed us the hard truth. Maybe a hot iron to the face made him realise I wasn't really worth it. And maybe being Negan's whore made me realise _he_ wasn't really worth it."

"He went back for you," Lilly said, remembering his determination when he came back to Savannah to find them. "He was set on getting you out. It just took him a while."

"I know. I'm not angry with him. To be honest, I don't feel anything."

Lilly nodded and felt a cold wind on her face, cooling the anxious sweat that had gathered.

"I know how you feel."

The few emotions she still did feel were sadness, fear, and hatred. Something inside her had been lost when she'd shot the bullet through The Governor's head, and it hadn't come back Her body was a cage, and the canary inside it had flown away when its doors were opened. She was a mere empty enclosure now, with nothing to sing her to sleep.

"It's over," she said again, forcing herself to believe it as well. "All of that is over."

Only a fool would believe it.

.

.

Frankie and Odessa led Noah through a series of empty passageways to a room filled with lockers. It reminded him of the changing rooms at his school, and he studied the women in an attempt to guess what they were up to.

Guiding him towards the edge of the room, Frankie tapped her fingers against one of the lockers and a man emerged from around the corner. He was tall and strong-looking, with olive green eyes, and Noah wondered why they'd brought him there.

"This is Derick," Frankie said, and Noah blinked slowly, "He goes on supply runs and missions to the other communities. He brings us things back if he's feeling nice."

"Hey," Noah greeted.

"He can get a message to Alexandria for you."

Noah stared at the Savior. "How?"

Derick smirked, "I'm fast on my feet. I can get it done."

"But isn't the attack going to be soon? What if you're too late?"

"There's a trip to Hilltop scheduled for tomorrow," he answered. "If you can point out where this place of yours is on the map, I can make a quick detour there."

Noah's brow creased, and he stared at Derick carefully. Frankie and Odessa noticed his unease and waited for him to speak. He was glad for the opportunity to warn home about the oncoming threat, but . . .

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, "How does this benefit you?"

Derick regarded him for a moment, then smiled.

It was more genuine-looking than he'd expected it to be.

"Because it's the right thing to do."

He thought of Beth suddenly, and her glory and her righteousness. A blade twisted into his chest as he remembered escaping through the fence whilst she was caught and restrained on the ground. She'd smiled at him, despite that, because he was free.

She'd just wanted him to be free.

She'd saved him so many times, back then and when she'd stood up to Dawn. It hurt remembering that smile and her arms around him in the hallway before it all went wrong.

Noah maintained eye contact with Derick and eventually nodded.

"Ok," he said, "I'll show you."

.

.

On her way back from the wall, Lilly ran into Dwight. He seemed irritated and distracted, and he almost bumped into her because of how wrapped up in his thoughts he was.

She took in his appearance, studying the purple bruises beneath his eyes and the grease on his face. When he saw her, he angled his face so that the burned part of it was more dominantly visible. He did that to hide his thoughts, she'd come to learn, because the charred flesh prevented the feelings from showing on his face.

"What's wrong?" she asked, and his lip curled into a deeper frown.

"'M fine," he answered curtly, "Just come back from dealin' with that Wolf prick, is all."

"Does Beth know about him yet?"

"Yeah, she saw 'im today. Decided _not_ to kill him in the end. Can you believe that?"

"Well, he can't do much harm if he stays down there."

Wrath swirled in his exposed bulging eyeball and she stared at him carefully.

"Why are you so angry about it?" she asked, and he flexed his fingers before balling them into tight fists.

"Because he's a fuckin' disgusting _bastard_. You heard the way he talked about her."

She did remember.

"Back in the woods," she started, "He said that you tortured him. That Beth told you to . . . Is that true?"

Dwight's jaw hardened, and he turned his head fully to look at her. Looking into his eyes, she knew that it was true. Whatever the Wolf had known, Beth had wanted the information so badly she was willing to have him beaten bloody. And Dwight had obeyed that wish.

Why?

That was why he was angry, she quickly realised.

He was angry because of Beth.

His fierce loyalty to the girl was strange, Lilly thought, considering the rocky start they'd had to their relationship. She remembered their constant bickering and disagreements and wondered when it had all changed so much. When had that initial disdain become care and . . . devotion? They trusted each other now, but there had been a time they hadn't.

When had that changed?

"It's true," he answered.

She nodded slowly, accepting it. "Why'd you do it?"

Something stirred in his exposed eye socket, and she saw his throat bob. ". . . Because I know how it feels to be willin' to do anythin' to save the people ya care about."

Kindred spirits, the two of them were. Maybe that was just the simple truth of it. They pushed aside their differences and saw what was the same about them. They'd both been alone, heartbroken, and thought to be dead.

Maybe Beth was the only one that could understand how that felt.

"If you ever need to talk," Lilly offered, "You can come to me. I'll listen, if you want me to."

 _He saved all our lives when we ran from Crawford._

He tilted his head to reveal the unburned part of his face, then nodded.

His mouth curved into a tiny smirk and she frowned, confused.

"Always the nurturer, ain't ya, Lilly Chambler?"

She shrugged, "I guess . . ."

"I couldn't'a done it without ya, y'know. Got 'em this far, that is."

"You could—"

"I couldn't. We wouldn't've made it this far without ya. You took care of everyone while I was gone. If I hadn't come back, you still would'a made it to someplace like this."

"None of us would've made it if Beth hadn't warned us about the herd. She's the real hero, not me."

His smirk widened and she squeezed her hands into fists, wanting to look away.

"Ya need t'have more faith in yourself," he said, then strode past her and down the street.

Her feet remained rooted to the ground, her mouth hanging slightly open. He'd never spoken to her like that before, and she wondered what had changed in him to make him. Turning her head to watch him walking away, she couldn't help but think that he walked with more freedom and purpose, like he had been liberated from a terrible curse. The tension in his shoulders had lessened considerably, and she found herself smiling faintly.

Maybe a time did come when they finally healed.

.

.

Beth smiled broadly as she bounced Judith on her knee. The baby giggled uncontrollably and had her fingers hooked into the front of Beth's sweater.

They were sitting on a blanket by a swing set, surrounded by piles of golden leaves. The air was cold so Beth had wrapped a big scarf around Judith's neck and pulled a soft woolly hat over her head. With her pink mittens and pillowed coat, the only part of skin exposed was her little face, which wore a huge, toothy smile.

"Are you warm?" she asked, and Judith clapped her hands together. "Nice and warm, wrapped up in your pretty hat and scarf? Huh? They're so cute, I'm jealous."

The baby laughed again and Beth stroked her little round cheeks.

"She's missed you fawnin' over her," Daryl's voice came from behind her, and she turned to find him sitting on one of the swings.

Her smile widened.

"Like you aren't completely soft for her," she jeered, " _Little asskicker_?"

He smirked and Judith blew a loud raspberry at him. He feigned offense and she burst into loud tinkling giggles, then flopped against Beth's front and rubbed her face against her soft sweater.

Beth pulled the wool hat further down her head and stroked her back.

"Her hair's gettin' long," he said, "Could tie it in little ponytails or somethin'."

"Not as long as yours yet though," she threw back, eyeing his long dark locks, "You could get a whole braid in yours now."

"Don't get any ideas, Greene."

"I think it would look cute. You think so too, don't you, Judy?"

Judith was too busy chewing on her mittens to comprehend the question, so Beth shrugged and looked back at Daryl.

"It's weird thinkin' how short it used to be," she said, "Back at the farm I don't even think it reached your ears."

He ran a hand through it, and her brows quirked as it stretched even longer when he tugged at it.

"Wow," she laughed, "You desperately need a haircut."

"Maybe I'm tryna get it even longer than yours."

She narrowed her eyes and glanced down at her ponytail which now reached her ribs. A wry smile crept onto her lips and she curled the ends of her hair around a finger.

"Good luck with that."

He chuckled lightly and Beth felt Judith wriggling against her. It was strange, thinking back to the farm, where the lively baby hadn't even come into existence yet. She found it difficult now to imagine a life that didn't have Judith in it, because Judith had been one of the few things that had always been a constant. Beth could never imagine not having her there, and it was that thought that made her think of Sophia.

That girl had been alone in the woods for days, frightened and hungry, and she'd died that way later in their very own barn. Carol had cried so much for her. Daryl had searched so hard for her. They all had. But it hadn't been enough.

"Daryl?" she asked, "Do you remember the very first thing you ever said to me?"

He frowned and leaned forward on the swing with his hands clasped together on his knees.

"No," he said eventually, and she knew from his tone that he was ashamed he didn't.

Beth took Judith's tiny hands in her own and squeezed them gently. "It was before you went out on your own to look for Sophia. You needed a horse to travel farther out, but you didn't wanna ask Maggie or my dad because you knew they'd say no. So you found me outside the stables, a bucket of manure in my hands, and asked me if you could borrow one."

"Oh yeah, I remember that."

"I was so embarrassed, standing there holdin' that stinky bucket, but I don't think you even really noticed it. You just came outta nowhere, crossbow in hand, and said . . . _Hey. I've been looking for you._ "

She tilted her head to look up at him, and his eyes were wide, pupils dilated.

It was funny, she thought, that such a seemingly insignificant moment could bleed into something so enormous. Like a tiny droplet of water falling into a giant lake, and its ripples arching out for miles and miles. Those words, those first words . . . They were the first page in a greater story. _Their_ story.

The story of them all.

She smiled.

"Ironic wording . . . huh?"

Finally, a smile appeared on his mouth, and the orange in the trees gave his hair a warm, golden glow. Just like he was surrounded by candles on another dark autumn night, where she smiled at him and asked the question that changed everything.

But she'd never even had to ask it, because the answer had been right there in those first words all along.

 _I've been looking for you._

"That is pretty damn ironic," he agreed, and she suddenly felt too warm in her thick sweater.

He was looking at her like that again, and it made her feel the same way it had before. Like there were birds dancing in her stomach, tickling her insides with the flapping of their wings. They surfaced rarely now, but when they did, they reminded her of the feeling she'd had. The feeling that, no matter what happened, everything would be all right.

She turned back to Judith, colour creeping into her cheeks despite the chilly air.

"I see you," he whispered over the cool breeze, sending the little birds into another round of dancing. "I see you now."

The warmth in her chest flowered and spread out to the rest of body, and she wanted to hold it inside her forever. No more emptiness or sorrow. No more loneliness. Because they cared, all of them. They all cared and they would never hurt her. _He_ would never.

 _Never_.

"Good," she said, smiling, "'Cause you were blind for a long time."

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* * *

 **Author's Corner**

Me? Writing Bethyl fluff that lasts longer than a thousand words? Too OOC.

Don't forget to review! :D


	57. The future starts now

**RUNNING BLIND**

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 _"The future depends on what you do today."_ — **Gandhi**

.

.

Dr. Steven Edwards's shaking hands stilled a few millimetres away from the glass container on his work desk, and he regarded it with wide eyes and ragged breaths . . .

He'd done it.

He'd finally done it, or at least, he _thought_ he had.

Cupping his fingers around the beaker, he stared into the surface of fluorescent blue liquid and swallowed thickly. After weeks of trying and trying, of sleepless nights spent cooped up in here desperately working on getting it right . . . He'd actually done it.

He could save her.

Pouring the substance into a more secure container, he fastened the lid and fumbled around for a clean syringe. Sweat was running down his face and neck—the result of days without proper rest—and he could feel his temples throbbing. It was worth it though, he thought as he found a syringe and set it down beside the container. It was worth it because he could _finally_ put an end to her pain, or at least ease it just a little.

He'd finally done it.

Not even bothering to remove his lab coat, he covered his work with a box and then rushed to find Beth. She was not an easy person to find, he'd learned during their time in the safe zone. Alexandria was a large enough place on its own, and she hid herself well, always out of sight and tucked away into a tight little corner where she often played with Rick's daughter.

With every day that passed, she sunk farther into herself, her essence slowly fading.

She was a seashell, and the sound of crashing waves inside of her was turning into silence.

He found her on a front porch, playing with the baby like he'd expected. Daryl, Maggie, and Effy were there too, sitting on the steps and watching her entertain the squealing infant. Effy had a rattle in her hands and was shaking it, causing Judith to bounce and clap her hands.

The smile on Beth's face almost broke his heart.

Tender.

Gentle.

It was the smile of a girl too soft to have seen the kinds of horrors she'd seen.

The smile of a girl who plaited braids in her hair and sat cross-legged in golden wheat fields with an open book in her lap.

Seeing her like that transported him back to a time long ago . . . when his little girl, Riley, was only a tiny baby, playing in the garden with his wife, who was holding a rainbow rattle. Beth noticed him standing there then and the spell was suddenly broken. He wasn't in that faraway place anymore. He was in a reality that no longer had a place for that family of his. And the sudden realisation of that fact made him feel very . . . alone.

"Hey there, Doc," Effy greeted, shaking the rattle in his direction.

His stomach churned and he bit his inside cheek.

Beth saw the tension in his eyes and her smile quickly faded. She picked Judith up and handed her to Maggie, then trotted down the steps and over to him. He almost flinched as he reached him, burned by a half-forgotten memory.

"Are you okay?" she asked, brows drawn together and her eyes scanning his face. There was a ring of green around her pupils that he hadn't noticed before, almost gold, and it looked almost as if someone had mixed metallic paint with water.

He could have sworn that her eyes were grey before.

"I'm fine," he choked, pulling himself together, "I'm fine . . . I have good news actually."

Her expression brightened and her carefree smile reappeared.

"Really? What is it?"

.

.

He watched Rick Grimes inspect the beaker of newly brewed antivirus serum and twisted his fingers together anxiously.

Beth stood to his left, also eyeing the substance, and seeing the two of them together like that made Edwards think of just how similar the two of them truly were. They were made from the same dust and matter, the two of them. The same piece of clay, shaped and melded into what they were now. And it shone like a blaring siren light to only his eyes, for some reason.

It wasn't just Rick that had come along though, it was the entire Rick Grimes brigade.

Michonne stood to Rick's right, then Carol at hers, then Daryl, and Carl, and Glenn, and even Maggie, who had recovered enough to drag herself out of bed to stand with the rest of them. And if that wasn't enough already, Edwards knew the rest of them would be here too if they weren't already preoccupied with watch duties and training programmes and whatever else they did every day to keep the safe zone running so smoothly.

"Just to make sure we're all on the same page," Rick said finally, "The hospital in Atlanta was working on a cure for this thing, you gave it to Beth after what happened at the exchange, and now you've recreated it here."

Edwards nodded, "That's right. Using what I recovered from Grady, and with the resources here, I managed to recreate the serum you have there in that beaker."

"And it can prevent a person from turning if they get bitten?" Michonne asked.

He gestured to Beth.

"You have living proof."

"But I thought she wasn't bit," Daryl piped up, "You used it t'heal her after she got shot. That ain't proof of nothin'."

Edwards bit his tongue.

It was Beth, though, that answered for him.

"It might not have for me," she said, "But it did Tanaka. We used it when we cut off his arm and it worked. It saved him."

"It worked when we cut off Hershel's leg too," Rick reminded, "And we didn't have to use whatever this stuff is."

Beth and Maggie both tensed at the mention of their father and Edwards thought he saw their eyes darken for just a moment. Rick seemed to realise his mistake because his expression softened ever so slightly, but he maintained his strong, immovable façade.

"That might be true," Beth retorted, her tone somewhat sour, "But it worked before when they were testing it at the hospital. He tried it on his friend and it saved him too. Tell them, Edwards."

"It's true," he nodded, squirming under the intensity of their gazes, "The experiment was a success. He was bitten and because he was given the serum, he lived. It's not a fake. I promise you . . . I wouldn't lie about something like this."

Rick still seemed unconvinced, and Carol spoke up.

"Have you tested this new batch?" she asked, "To make sure it works like it's supposed to."

He swallowed thickly before answering, already certain of what their reactions would be.

". . . That's where I need Beth."

Their expressions shifted in a second.

Daryl looked ready to give him the same treatment he'd given Dawn, Maggie's mouth dropped open, and Rick's eyes burned with a warning. "No," Rick said, and Maggie moved closer to her sister and clasped her hand. "No. Absolutely not."

Beth tried to reason with them, "Wait—"

" _No_ ," Rick repeated, firmer this time, "It's not happening. I don't care if you trust his judgement enough to gamble your life. You're not. Not again."

"This could save us," she argued, "This could save _everyone_!"

"You're not being his lab rat. If he thinks it'll work, he can try it on something else first. Like an actual animal."

"The virus doesn't affect animals," Edwards added meekly, his mind flashing to all the patients and test subjects they'd had to go through to perfect the mixture. His ears were still filled with their shrill shrieks and howls. They haunted his dreams nightly. He didn't think he could ever forget.

"Why don't ya try it on _yourself_?" Daryl hissed, and Beth gave him a sharp look. "If you're so sure, why not shove it up your own ass?"

"You're not doing this to her," Maggie fought, holding her sister's hand tightly.

They'd all taken on offensive stances, he noticed then. All of them, ready to protect their own. It was frightening how far they were willing to go to keep the people they loved safe.

He would never willingly endanger Beth.

She knew that too, but they didn't, and he knew that if he took even one step towards her then, each one of them would have pulled out their guns and aimed them at his head.

But then, Glenn stepped forward, lifting his hands at the rest of them. "Cool it, guys," he said, and they all turned to face him. "He isn't trying to hurt her, he's only trying help. So, ease off him a little, ok?"

Edwards almost breathed a sigh of relief, and mentally thanked the man. Beth, however, was remarkably less docile.

She turned to Rick and summoned a glare that could challenge Daryl's. Rick seemed startled by it and blinked. She pulled her hand out of Maggie's and stared at him, her eyes narrow and lips pressed together tightly.

"What about Judith?" she asked.

It was a delicate question and it hung in the air for a few tense moments.

Rick looked straight back at her, seemingly recovered from the initial shock of seeing her like that, and asked calmly, "What about her?"

"We can't protect her forever. This could. It could give her a future. It could give _all_ of us a future. If not this, then what have we been fightin' for all this time? What did my dad, and Lori, and everyone else _die_ for? Why are we still _here_?"

Rick's shoulders tightened and everyone visibly recoiled at the harshness of her words. Carl's eye widened and Michonne cast Rick a careful, tender glance.

"Beth . . ." Maggie whispered, but Beth didn't back down.

"You made us keep going," she said, her eyes two forest fires underneath a never-ending sky. "You made us believe there was a future. And now that it's here, you're just gonna turn away? Because it's risky? . . . Screw that. Everything's a risk now. _Everythin'_. You have to take a couple of chances every now and then if you wanna make it to that future you always told us about . . . Or have you forgotten that, livin' inside these walls?"

Edwards had a feeling everyone was holding their breaths.

He got the sense that they hadn't seen this side of her much before. They were used to the soft-tongued, doe-eyed teenager that had sung to them in the dimness of cellblocks. They hadn't seen her fight back before, or show her assertiveness, and he knew that they certainly hadn't _ever_ seen her argue with _Rick_ before.

Each and every one of them was utterly silent.

Finally, Rick opened his mouth to speak.

"This isn't up for debate. I said no."

She closed her mouth and straightened her spine.

She regarded him closely, her eyes still blazing with cataclysmic defiance, and she slowly tilted her head to the side. Then she leaned in close, and said quietly, but clearly . . .

"My dad would've been ashamed of you."

And then she was out the door, leaving them all shocked and confused.

.

.

Beth knew she had to act as she stalked out of the medical center and down the leaf-coated streets. She hadn't meant what she'd said about Lori and her daddy. She knew Rick was only being cautious, but she didn't need his overprotectiveness now. She trusted Edwards, and she trusted him to do a good job with whatever he did.

It was funny how different her opinions on him were now to how they had been at the start.

Regardless of how she'd felt before, she knew what was in that beaker would save them. They just had to take the chance, just this one chance, and then they could take back their world from the dead.

She thought of Judith. It had been a low blow bringing her up, but her point had been valid. What would happen if something ever happened to Judith? If what had happened to Daddy ever happened to her . . . She was hardly even the height of his leg. Amputating in her case would be cutting her in _half_ . . .

She didn't even want to think about something like that happening.

But if it did, this serum could ensure that she survived.

Lori had given her life so that Judith could live. She'd sacrificed herself for the sake of the _future_. She'd been the first to understand that. And Beth knew she would want her to do everything in her power to keep the little girl safe.

So she would.

She would do anything to give Judith that future.

She stormed down the streets with a newly acquire swagger and felt her ponytail swinging back and forth across her back.

She knew what she had to do.

What she had to be wary of . . . was getting caught.

.

.

Denise was on edge about something.

Lilly could see it as she walked beside her, their arms full of boxes.

Since she'd arrived at the zone, Denise had been nothing but thoughtful and considerate towards her. Seeing her with such a twisted expression on her face made Lilly wonder if there was anything she could do to help.

"You okay?" she finally asked, and Denise seemed to snap out of her trance.

"Oh, yeah," she mumbled, "I'm just worried. My girlfriend went away on a run a couple of weeks ago. She said she was going to be a while, but . . . I didn't think she meant this long. She can take care of herself, but I still worry."

Lilly nodded. "I get it. Has anyone gone after her?"

"No, but she didn't go alone. Heath would have her back if something bad happened. They've not been gone long enough to inspire a manhunt."

They carried the boxes to the storeroom in the medical center and Lilly found her thoughts racing.

The words came tumbling out of her mouth before she could even finish her train of thought.

"I could look for her, if you want."

Denise's eyes widened slightly and she blinked.

"I can't guarantee that I'd be able to find her, but I could look. I'm not doing anything else, and it'd be nice to be useful to someone, at least. But only if you want me to."

The tension seeped out of Denise's features and a great smile spread out across her face. Her eyes sparkled behind her glasses and the skin around them was crinkled as the smile extended all the way up from her mouth.

Something about it made Lilly think of Tara, and she quickly averted her gaze.

"You'd do that?" Denise asked, clearly in a state of disbelief, "You'd actually do that? For _me_?"

Pushing away those lingering memories of her sister, Lilly forced a smile of her own. "Just point me in the right direction and I'll be on my way before sunrise tomorrow."

Denise was practically glowing.

"Okay!"

.

.

Beth waited until the sun was long gone and the zone was swarmed with darkness. She'd helped Carl put Judith to bed and then spent the last few hours listening to old music records with Effy, as a means to pass the time before she put her plan into action.

There were only a handful of lights still on in the houses.

Certainly not enough to notice her sneaking around in the night.

She quietly got out of her bed and made her way downstairs. Maggie and Glenn were curled up together in their shared bed and they didn't even stir as she crept past. Thankfully, the stairs didn't creak as she walked down them, and she left the house with the stealth of a panther.

Feeling the chilly air on her skin, she balled her fists and started to head towards the medical center. Her veins thrummed with an odd sense of thrill that reminded her of the one fact she kept on forgetting . . .

 _She was alive._

She could feel the cold licking at her flesh, and hear the sounds coming from the trees beyond the walls. And there was her heart, beating steadily in her chest. Like a drum. She wasn't hollow. It had always been there, strong and enduring just like the rest of her.

Once she reached the medical building, she snuck in through a side door and made her way towards the place she and Edwards had spent so many nights working nonstop.

All those books they'd read, all that research, all those failed attempts . . . They couldn't be for nothing.

She found the room and searched around for the cupboard he was keeping the beaker in. They were all locked, but she'd swiped the key earlier and no one had noticed. She didn't blame them. No one would ever expect her to do something like this. No one would ever expect her to be so crazy. And no one, no one in a million years, would ever expect her to defy direct orders from Rick.

They were always so wrong about her.

Finally, she located the cupboard and pulled out the beaker. Setting it down on the table, she stared at it, glinting and pale blue in the moonlight. She remembered the tubes in her limbs and the sensation of it flooding into her bloodstream. The puncture marks had long faded, but sometimes she could still feel them, bumpy and risen and itching to be filled with more.

She found a clean syringe and stuck it in the liquid, watching it fill slowly. When it was full, she lifted it and just stared. Maybe for hours.

This was what started it all.

This was what saved her life and started her out on this path. This had changed her into what she was now, mutated and wrong, but so much stronger and better.

This had given her _power_ , and she had quickly become addicted.

Holding it to her arm, she flinched when a voice called out from behind her and almost made her drop the syringe in fright.

"Beth?! What are you doing?"

She turned, slowly, and locked eyes with Edwards from across the room.

His expression was one of confusion until his gaze slid down to the beaker on the table, and the syringe in her hand.

"Beth," he said again, quieter this time, as if he was pleading. "Beth . . . Don't."

"You're the one who wanted me to do this," she said, "You called us all in, so why are you telling me _no_ now?"

"Rick said—"

"I know what Rick said. And I don't care."

His lips trembled and he shook his head.

". . . But what if he's right? What if something goes wrong? If anything happens to you, he'll—"

"How likely is it to work?"

"I don't know—"

" _How likely is it to work?_ "

He shook his head and bit the insides of his cheeks.

She trusted him, didn't he see? She trusted that it would work. He'd believed it would work too until Rick had told him no. Rick had been telling them no for years, and every time they'd listened to him. But this wasn't like all those other times.

This was about Judith's and Maggie's baby's futures.

"I don't know for certain," he whispered, "But . . . I think there's about a five percent chance it will work for sure."

"You're lying."

"I'm not—"

"You wouldn't have brought it forward to all of us if you thought the chances were that slim! You _know_ it'll work."

"We don't know anything anymore."

She stilled and brought her gaze down to the syringe in her hand. Her resolve weakened a little at those words, because he was right, they _couldn't_ be sure of anything anymore . . . but . . .

She looked at him again.

Five percent.

Even if it was a lie . . . Five percent. It was small, but it was more than zero. It was so tiny and very much away from the realm of possibility, but yet . . . so had been her surviving the bullet.

Five percent was a chance.

And a chance was all she needed.

"No. We don't," she agreed, "But if we don't take risks like this . . . how can we ever expect to know anything again?"

And then she plunged the needle of the syringe into her arm and felt the liquid forcing its way deep into her veins, which were already swimming with poison and rot.

 **.**

 **.**


	58. All the king's horses

**RUNNING BLIND**

 **.**

 **.**

 _"Run with my hands on my eyes._  
 _Blind, but I'm still alive._  
 _Free to go back on my own,_  
 _But is it still a home? When you're all alone?_  
 _Is it still a home? When you're all alone?"_ — All The King's Horses, **Karmina**

.

.

The effect was almost instant.

At first, it felt as though nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. She felt the needle go in and the substance flow into a vein, but that was all. Like an ordinary flu injection. Like nothing at all.

But this was no ordinary injection.

Before she could open her mouth to say everything was fine, something hot burst into existence underneath her skin and sent a sizzling pain shooting through the arm she'd injected. Fire surged through the veins and she screamed through clenched teeth, clasping the arm with her hand tightly and feeling her legs weaken.

Edwards ran to her without hesitation and caught her by the shoulders.

Her arm burned—like it was too hot and too cold all at the same time—and the serum tore through her veins up into her shoulder and down into her hand. She felt a throbbing deep beneath her flesh and cried out. A guttural scream.

Forcing her eyes open, she peered down at her arm and saw the veins bulging out and turned black, like lines of tattoos all over her arm.

" _JesusfuckingChrist!_ " she screamed, jolting against Edwards, who was in a total state of panic.

The pain vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by an alarming sense of numbness. Her arm started to feel heavy, like it was made entirely out of lead, and she struggled to keep it up. She thought she heard Edwards blabbering something, but the words didn't register in her brain and she started to see white spots in her vision. Soon the fire had spread past her shoulder and into her neck, and she lost track of time as she craned backward in his arms and shivered violently.

She wouldn't die. She wouldn't die. She had to _fight_ it. She had to fight the poison out because it wasn't going to destroy her from the inside out like this.

She was going to _live_!

She believed in the future Edwards was going to create. They were going to have picnics in the summer and dinner parties and holidays. They were going to laugh and sing and grow old, all of them.

This serum was going to save them.

It was going to give them that future whether it liked it or not.

And she was going to _make_ it happen.

She passed out the moment the pain reached her heart, and collapsed to the ground, still shaking violently in Edwards's arms.

.

.

Edwards wanted to scream himself as he held her on the ground, spasming wildly. He knew she'd fallen unconscious and her eyes had rolled back into her head, revealing only narrow slits of empty white. Her mouth was hanging open and a white froth had started to run down from the corners of it.

Driven by a sheer sense of chaotic panic, he scooped her up in his arms and ran with her to the nearest patient room. It was hardly like the ones they'd had at the hospital in Atlanta, but it would have to do.

He dropped her onto the bed and forced her onto the side to avoid her choking on the acidic froth that was foaming from her mouth. She was still shaking wildly, almost in a seizure-like way, and he didn't know what to do to get her to stop. Normally with a seizure, he would just be forced to wait until it was over, but this wasn't like any ordinary seizure.

" _HELP_!" he screamed.

It was all he could think to do.

This was his fault, after all.

He screamed it over and over again until his throat went hoarse. Soon tears were spilling from his eyes and he was crying, messily and uncontrollably. He needed to pull himself _together_! She _needed_ him! But he couldn't stop. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop.

Suddenly, hands were on his shoulders and he turned to find Lilly and Denise reaching for Beth. He thought they were talking but he couldn't hear them. A fog had settled over his consciousness and he wanted to shout so loud that his voice would disappear forever.

Even now, he still couldn't find it in himself to be strong for her.

"Snap _out_ of it, you flake!"

Everything stopped.

When he looked around, everything was white and he was alone. There was nothing but an endless blank space that went on forever.

Maybe he was dead.

Maybe Daryl had come running in and seen what he'd done to her, and killed him like he killed Dawn. He wouldn't blame him. They'd told him not to let her do it, and whilst he technically hadn't _let_ her, he'd still created what had put her in that state.

He'd done this to her. It was his fault. It was always his fault.

She should have left him in that hospital to burn.

"Oh, stop feeling sorry for yourself."

He gasped.

That voice. That voice again. An impossible voice he couldn't possibly be hearing.

He spun around and found Dawn standing there.

A glaring contrast against the empty white.

"No," he shook his head, "No. You can't be here. You're not . . . You're not . . ."

"I'm dead, I know. Obviously, this isn't real."

He took a step back away from her. Seeing her made memories come flooding back that he'd tried to forget. Terrible memories. Things he'd done. He wanted to bury them but the sight of her face again made them come rushing back.

He thought he'd forgotten what her face looked like.

"What do you want?" he choked.

She put her hands on her hips and said, "I want you to get your shit together. What happened to the doctor I knew who held his ground in a crisis? Who saved all those lives?"

"I took way more. You _made_ me take them."

"Well, I'm not here anymore. And you have a chance to save her. But instead, you're freaking out and imagining me here in this creepy rip-off of an afterlife."

He trembled.

". . . I can't do it. I can't save her . . . This is my _fault_."

She took a step closer. Her eyes were like iron as she narrowed them and hardened her jaw and said very firmly, "Then _fix_ it."

He still remembered all the blood spraying out.

"Who . . . do you think you _are_?" he stuttered, features hardening.

She raised her eyebrows.

He carried on.

"You're criticising me, when _you're_ the one that did this to her. You're the one that _killed_ her!"

There was a strange look in her eyes before she answered.

"But I didn't kill her . . . You saved her."

"And look where it got her."

"You need to get your act together, Steve," she said firmly, so close now she was almost touching him. "You suffered all those years in there and you pulled through. You made it out and traveled all the way up here. You kept pulling through all those times, and _now_ you're gonna decide to chicken out? Bullshit. You can pull through this time too."

"You don't know anything."

"But I do know you'll do anything to save her. You didn't even hesitate when she showed up back at the hospital half dead and covered in blood. You saved her, just like that, and you didn't do it because you felt like you owed her after what happened with Trevitt. You did it because you _wanted_ to."

His whole body had gone still.

"You saved her because she made you think there was a world out there that was _worth_ saving too. All those years cooped up in a place like that made you think that everyone was horrible and not worth saving . . . But she made you see otherwise. She made you remember."

 _We're not the ones who make it._

He remembered standing with her on the roof of the Grady building, overlooking the dystopian city landscape that surrounded them. She wasn't like Dawn or Gorman or anyone else in that place. She'd been out there, past that dusty horizon. She'd seen horrible things and beautiful things, and he'd known then that she would be the answer to it all.

If anyone would save them from the pit they'd dug themselves in, it was her.

Because she'd asked him why they couldn't be more than animals anymore. Why they couldn't still have art. Why they couldn't be _more_.

She sang.

She still sang, even bang in the middle of it all.

Against his knowledge, his spine unintentionally straightened and he felt a strength flooding into his shoulders. He felt strange, like he'd been knocked off his feet, but it was in that moment that he realised he wasn't afraid of Dawn in the slightest.

Not even a little bit.

 _That's what defines who you are now, regardless of if you were a teacher before the turn or a policeman or a doctor. You're a survivor now, and you have to fight if ya wanna keep on livin'._

He swallowed.

 _Your life is measured by how much you're willing to fight for it._

"You were the coward," he said to Dawn, and her eyebrows quirked in surprise. "Not me. I thought I was, but I was wrong, it was _you_. You were the one who was afraid of her."

Weirdly enough, she smiled.

It looked strange on her.

"You're right," she said, "I was a coward. And I was afraid. I knew what she could be and I didn't know how to accept that. You were stronger than me in that, it seems."

"That's right, I was. I _am_. I am . . . And I'm not going to let her die."

Her smile widened and she clapped him on the shoulder.

"That's the spirit."

He had half a mind to smack her hand away.

"I'm going to make it right," he said, "No matter what. I'm _gonna_ save her, for sure."

She nodded. " _Damn_ right you are. You are . . . You know, I like this version of you much better than I did the old you. We could've done some real good, you and me."

"You blew that chance when you blew a hole in her head."

"Yeah, I guess. I can't ever undo that."

He thought he saw a glimmer of sadness in her expression then and it reminded him of all the times he'd seen her and Beth together before the big incident.

They hadn't been friends, but they'd been on their way towards something that could have made Dawn see the way that he did. What would have happened, he wondered, if they'd had time to develop that? Would she still have blown a hole through her head? . . . Or would she have let her walk away— _with_ Noah—because she finally understood?

She gave his shoulder a firm squeeze and gave him one last smile.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I know I don't deserve that, but . . . Give 'em hell for me. Okay, Doc?"

Just for a minute, he made himself forget everything that had happened, and gave her the smallest of smiles. Then he nodded. Her smile widened and he wondered what it would have been like if she'd survived the bullet and escaped along with them.

There was no sense dwelling on what could have been.

But still, regardless of the history . . . He thought Beth might have been proud of him if she could have seen.

The white space faded back into reality and he returned to himself.

.

.

Finally, Beth stopped her violent spasms and came to an abrupt still. Edwards felt his heart hammering in his chest as Lilly pressed two fingers to the pulse point in her neck, and then nodded slowly.

"She's all right," she said, removing her hand, "She's all right."

He let out a shaky breath and Denise laughed in relief. Lilly smiled and then pressed her hand to Beth's clammy forehead.

"She's burning up though. Could be a fever. Get me a cold flannel, please."

Denise rushed to retrieve a flannel and Edwards stared at the stark black veins underneath Beth's skin. They hadn't returned to their normal colour and he felt new panic rising in his chest.

"Look at those," he said, pointing to them.

Lilly lifted the arm she'd injected the antivirus into and studied it. The puncture point was swollen and bruised, and a network of inky veins spread out from it like wires. They spread down to her hand and coiled up around her neck, like precise, bizarre runes.

". . . It did this to her?" she asked.

He nodded.

Beth's breathing seemed to have evened but her skin was covered in a coat of sweat. And she was pale. Too pale.

It frightened him to see her like that.

Denise came rushing back and draped the damp flannel down over Beth's forehead. She didn't even react and just laid there, eyes closed and breathing steadily. "What do we do now?" she asked, worried.

Edwards bit the insides of his cheeks.

". . . We're going to have to tell Rick."

.

.

Rick was the farthest from pleased that anyone could possibly imagine.

"I told you _no_ ," he hissed as he stalked over to Edwards, pressing his face close to his. "I said that and you still went ahead with it. And look what happened. Look what you _did_."

"I didn't do it," he fought back, though his voice was audibly shaky, "She snuck in here and took it herself. I tried to stop her, but she was going to do it no matter what."

"Then you should've tried _harder_."

" _Hey_ ," Lilly snapped, stepping between them. Her eyes were like ice as she glared at Rick, unafraid and unbridled. "Back off. He didn't make her do it, she made her own choice. She decided it was worth the risk if it could do some good in the long run. Lay off him."

"She could _die_!"

"What?"

They all turned to find Maggie in the doorway.

Her face was twisted in confusion until her gaze drifted to the comatose form of her sister in the bed, and her eyes widened cosmically. She rushed to the bed in an instant and grabbed Beth's hands, scanning her frantically and shaking them.

"What happened?" she yelled as she did, "What's wrong with her?!"

"She took the antivirus serum," Rick answered, and Maggie's eyes darkened when they fell on Edwards.

" _You_." she snarled, her eyes narrow and wild with fury. "You—You _let_ her—After we said—"

"She took it herself!" he interrupted, feeling like a mouse trapped in her gaze, "I tried to talk her out of it, I tried to stop her—"

"Wake her up. Wake her up _now_!"

Rick caught her before she could hurl herself at him, and she thrashed in his hold like a rabid animal. He didn't blame her for reacting the way she was. She'd watched her sister be carried out of the hospital with a bullet in her brain. He'd watched her scream from above and fall to the ground, crying.

He'd never forget seeing her look like that.

Helpless and drowning in the bleakness of futility.

"Bring her back!" she screeched, "Bring her back, god _damn_ it! I'm not gonna let this happen! Not again! _Bring her back_!"

" _Maggie_."

Rick's calm and rational voice silenced her.

She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he stared at her intensely. Edwards wondered if he would ever be able to understand how they all managed to communicate like that. How they were all so close and connected. Like a pack of wild bears.

"I need you to calm down," he said softly, "She's not dead, she's right there. She's right there, and she's still breathing. I need you to be strong. You know how to be strong. She _needs_ you. Be strong."

She shook her head and gripped his arms.

Edwards felt his heart constrict as more pearl tears rolled down her cheeks.

". . . She's all I have left," she whispered, "She's all I have left from before. Everything, all of my friends, my family . . . my dad . . . She's the only thing that's left."

He stole a glance across at Lilly and thought he saw something shift in her eyes. Some dark shadow that protected an asylum of heartbreak and memories she was desperate to keep buried.

As she watched Maggie's tears fall for her younger sister, Edwards could have sworn that her eyes turned shiny, before she turned away and out of his sight.

"She's gonna make it."

There was no uncertainty in Rick's voice when he said it.

Edwards felt himself filling with a powerful sense of resolve, and as Rick was telling Maggie to fetch Daryl and a list of names that his brain didn't register, he finally knew what he had to do.

Knowing that Beth was in good hands, he marched back to his workroom and started working again. Time ran away from him and it reached the point when he wasn't quite sure exactly how long he'd been there. He worked all through the day and all through the night, too full of adrenaline to rest, and drank every single cup of coffee. Effy brought him. He couldn't stop. He couldn't, not even for a second. Not until it was done.

He couldn't rest until Beth's eyes were open again and her fever was gone.

.

.

Lilly laid back in her chair and watched Maggie tenderly run her hands through Beth's hair. Watching them had reopened the wound in her heart, but she tried not to let it show on her face.

It had been so long since she'd lost Tara now.

She should be way past this.

But sometimes, the tiniest of things would bring all those memories back to the surface and remind her of everything that she'd lost. Her husband, her dad, her daughter, her sister. Even The Governor . . . All of them were gone now. Dead and far away from this mortal plain.

 _She's the only thing that's left._

She twisted her fingers together and finally looked away.

Daryl hovered like a ghost in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His arms were folded and his expression was tense, his arms fixed on the ground at his feet. He was avoiding looking at her too, Lilly realised after a while.

Maybe seeing her like this triggered a difficult memory for him too.

A memory that had something to do with the bullet scar on her brow.

Maggie didn't say anything to him, but Lilly caught her stealing quick, careful glances over at him. Her eyes shone with concern not only for Beth, but for him too, though he seemed set on ignoring her. She was almost calling to him. Beckoning him, as if he needed permission to even be near.

"She's gonna be okay," Lilly said to her, and she looked up from her sister and smiled.

"I hope so."

Lilly gave her a tiny smile in return and shifted her eyes down to Beth's unconscious form. She looked so small like that. So young. Lilly thought of her breakdown episode by the grave marker in Richmond and wanted to reach out and touch her arm.

"You should have more faith in her," she said quietly.

Daryl's head shot up at that.

"She's been through so much worse."

Maggie's eyes glittered and she nodded. "I know. She doesn't tell me, but . . . I know. I can't imagine the kinds of things she had to go through to get here."

"There were horrible things, but she made it through all of them. She got _us_ through them too. All of us. Believe me, none of us would be here now if it wasn't for her."

"She saved you?"

"Mhmm, without the slightest bit of hesitation. And it wasn't just us. She saved so many more."

A soft smile made its home on Maggie's lips.

If she could restore even a little comfort to someone else, she thought the emptiness inside her own chest might fill somewhat. It never did, but it reminded her of how it had used to feel.

Before she became no more than an animal.

She still remembered what she'd said to Beth that day by the grave marker in Richmond.

 _We're all monsters inside._

 _Some of us are just better at keeping it a bay than others._

It was getting harder and harder to pretend she wasn't one.

.

.

Once he was finished, Edwards threw off his lab coat and stormed over to the house where they were hiding the Wolf.

There was an impression of strength in his steps, and for the first time since the turn, he found he wasn't afraid.

He strode past Tanaka and Shepherd without allowing them time to question him, and walked into the dank little room with a lamp in the center. Morgan looked just as surprised as Tanaka and Shepherd to see him, but he pushed past him too and stared down at the man in chains.

"Would ya look who it is," the Wolf grinned, shifting in his shackles, "The scared little rabbit who cowers behind a girl."

The words didn't faze him.

"What are you doing here?" Morgan asked, and Tanaka and Shepherd wandered into the room, also curious.

"Secure him," Edwards said.

Morgan looked at him, puzzled. "He's in chains."

"Just hold him down, please."

The three of them moved to hold the Wolf in place, and he struggled in their grasp. "What the hell?!" he yelled, "What is this? I thought ya _weren't_ gonna kill me?"

"We're not," Edwards said, and reached into his pocket for the syringe filled with liquid.

Both Tanaka and Shepherd's eyes went wide, and they stared at him like he was crazy. The Wolf, however, simply looked confused.

"You're going to try something out for me," Edwards told him, coming closer, "I'm going to inject this into your arm and you're going to tell me how it makes you feel."

"What the fuck is that?! Get it away from me!"

Morgan pleaded with him using his eyes, hoping to appeal to his mercy like he had with Beth's, but there was no time for mercy now.

Not when her life was quickly slipping away.

"Stop struggling," he said, holding the syringe to his arm, "It'll only make it hurt more."

The Wolf kicked and screamed some more, then he pressed the needle into his flesh and watched the veins underneath his skin darken and spread up his entire arm. Unlike Beth, he didn't scream. He just stared at the effects of the serum. Contemplating what was happening to him. Edwards and the others watched with intense concentration as the blackness spread up into his shoulder and throughout the rest of his body.

He still wasn't screaming.

 _So far so good_ , Edwards supposed.

"What'd you just do t'me?" the Wolf snarled, and his voice sounded a little throatier than it had before.

"How do you feel?" he asked, ignoring the question.

"I don't fuckin' know! Like ya just injected me with some weird shit I have no clue what it is!"

"But how do you _feel_?"

"I feel _fine_ , ya fuckin' bastard! Meanin' if this was some attempt at a lethal injection or somethin', you failed! Hear that? You fuckin' _failed_!"

"Fine?" Edwards breathed, "You . . . feel fine?"

"Right as rain, prick. 'Cept I can kind o' feel a burning, deep inside me. But other than that, whatever's in that syringe ain't jack _shit_."

He breathed out a shaky sigh and sat down. Failed? No, that was where he was wrong. He was so wrong. If he was fine, if he really was fine . . .

He needed to be sure.

"Get comfortable, everyone," he told the others, pushing his glasses back up his nose, "We're in for a long night."

 **.**

 **.**


	59. Found

**Author's Corner**

I actually really like this chapter! I hope you guys do too!

Don't forget to review~

* * *

 **RUNNING BLIND**

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 **.**

 _"Turn the clock back to find,_  
 _A film that plays._  
 _With closed eyes you see it clear as day._  
 _Climbing trees to unwind,_  
 _The altitude eased your mind._  
 _You're dreaming of your escape."_ — Found, **Trenton**

.

.

She knew she was dreaming.

The wheat fields, the horses, and the airplanes in the sky where what gave it away.

She walked through the golden grass, barefoot, and stared out at the endless expanse surrounding her. She was wearing her favourite white summer dress and her hair was down, soft and falling in waves, full of life and colour. Not the cold, silver heap she remembered from reality. Lifting her head skyward, she saw a trail left by an airplane. White and puffy streaks stretching out forever. The sky was blue like it used to be, before whatever radiation had seeped out of all the cooling towers and turned it dusty grey. The day was warm and a breeze pushed through the fields, forcing her hair forwards over her shoulders.

A horse whinnied in the distance.

Something prompted her to glance down at the inside of her wrist, so she did, and found no trace of any scarring. Was this what it was like when you died? Scars gone, pain gone, and endless fields of gold? Was this what she wanted? A distant memory of suffering stabbed at her and she bit her tongue.

Would it be selfish to stay here, in this dimension of contentment?

Would it make a difference if she never came back?

 _We get to come back._

She wandered through the wheat and felt the grain tickling her fingers. The stalks were strong and swayed in the wind, and the ground was soft beneath her feet. There was no darkness here, no blood, no sadness, no death. There was just a dream that could last forever, if she wanted it to. A dream that everyone retired to in the end.

"Daddy?" she called out, instinctively.

No one answered.

It was just her, the horses, and a boundless sky.

She traveled on, unsure of how far she'd already walked. If she could walk just a little bit farther, she might reach the farmhouse, and in it . . . the rest of them.

As she was walking, a horse gave an extra loud whinny and her head spun towards it. She thought she saw a figure sitting on top of it. A young man wearing a straw hat. To her dismay, the sight was gone before she could properly register it.

She almost called out her brother's name, but stopped herself.

Shawn wasn't here. He was somewhere far away with the rest of her family, in a better place, because whatever this place was, it certainly wasn't Heaven.

She hadn't earned the right to go to the same place as them.

 _We get to come back._

She walked and walked until she reached the end of the golden fields. A sheer drop down to churning dark waves—the ocean. She smelled the salty air and closed her eyes, feeling the warm breeze on her face.

A hand came to rest on her shoulder, warm and soft, so she opened her eyes.

Jimmy was smiling at her, his hand on her shoulder.

Her eyes widened but she smiled back.

"You have to wake up," he said.

"What?"

"You heard what I said. You have to wake up."

He removed his hand from her shoulder and she shivered at the sudden lack of warmth. Sunlight spilled through the gaps in his straw hat and kissed his face, and she reached for him. What did she tell him? That she didn't want to? Didn't she? She didn't know what she wanted.

"You want to win," he answered her thoughts as if he had heard them.

"Win what?"

He smiled again and took a step back. She stretched a hand out to him, but he pushed it away gently. "I'm glad I got to see you again," he whispered, and she suddenly felt tears spilling down her cheeks. "Even if it's just once. Even if it's just a dream. I'm still glad."

"Don't leave," she said, "Please. Don't leave me."

He shook his head sadly and took another step away from her.

"I left you a long time ago, Beth."

And then he was gone.

She turned back to the ocean past the cliffs and saw a bird dancing high in the sky. More tears slid down her unmarred cheeks and fell into the unsteady waters below. If she went back, there would be more of that. More leaving, more goodbyes, more tears.

Did she want that?

Jimmy had said she wanted to win.

She jumped over the edge and into the black water. Down and down she sank, engulfed by blackness, until the world seemed to flip upside down and she was standing upright in a shallow stream. There were trees all around her, moss green and dripping with morning moisture. Fish swam in between her feet and she felt the stream gently lapping at her legs. She carried on walking, dislodging stones on the riverbed as she did. She'd forgotten how to stop.

 _We can come back from this, I know we can._

"Leave me alone," she hissed at the voice in her head.

Otis blocked her path, standing in the middle of the river in his black wellingtons and blue raincoat.

She trembled at the sight of him, at the memories of his and Shawn's fishing trips she and Maggie had been dragged along to. Maggie, it turned out, had ended up loving it, but Beth shared no such love for the sport. She'd _hated_ it, and she'd even told him that she hated him too for making her go.

"Let me past," she said quietly, and Otis smiled.

"Never did like fishing much, did you?"

It made her feel guilty now.

"Please . . . Let me past."

"You never said goodbye."

A shaky breath escaped her and she stared at him, a hulking figure in the scenery.

"I _hate_ goodbyes," she said.

"They aren't supposed to be easy."

Her heart thundered and she shook her head, forcing herself to smile for him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry I couldn't see through Shane's lies. I couldn't let myself accept what he'd done. But you're gone . . . and there's nothing I can do to bring you back."

"You can't stay here."

"Why not?"

His eyes softened.

"You know why."

And then he was gone too.

She pushed on, ignoring Rick's insistent voice in the back of her mind. Her palms felt empty without Daryl's to fill them, but it was better than her heart being empty. She kept on going until the stream brought her to a clearing. It bled out into a larger pool that was situated beneath a giant waterfall. Craning her head to look up at the top, she couldn't shake the feeling of familiarity that washed over her as she noticed the wooden staircase leading up to the top.

And then she remembered.

Amicalola Falls. 1997. Georgia.

Daddy had taken her and Maggie when they were little. She was five and Maggie was eleven. They'd climbed all the way to the top and looked down the diamond waterfall, almost believing that they could jump from the platform and fly. She could still remember the feeling, even then as she stood at the bottom, and a light spray of water hit her cheeks.

"I wish I'd gone with you," came a voice from her left.

Shawn stood in the water with her.

The sight of his dark hair and brown-green eyes after so long nearly knocked her off her feet. His hands were stuffed into his pockets and he smiled at her.

It felt like such a long time ago that she'd seen him smile.

"I know," he said as she stared at him, "Pretty cheesy dream you're having, right?"

"What were you doing in the barn?"

His smile loosened and he turned back to the falls.

"If you'd just stayed away," she snapped, "If you'd stayed away from the barn like Dad told us to . . . Why didn't you listen? Just once, why couldn't you have _listened_?"

"You're not angry at me, Beth."

"Then who am I angry at?"

He looked at her again and she almost wanted to punch him. So much for this being an ideal, happy dreamland.

". . . You should've been there," she whispered, "You should've been with us. After we lost the farm, that hard winter, we needed you. You were supposed to _protect_ me."

He snorted. "You told Daryl my overprotectiveness was annoying."

"I didn't mean it, I just . . ."

"You didn't need me."

"I _did_. You really are an idiot if you think I didn't."

The sound of running water filled her ears like music, and she balled her fists. Shawn gently took her wrist and stroked the inside of it with his thumb. Right where the bumpy risen scar was supposed to be.

She wanted to cry.

"Only one of us here is dead," he breathed. "Remember that."

"How can you be sure—"

He'd disappeared by the time she turned her head.

She spun around, searching for him, but he was nowhere. Vanished just like Otis and Jimmy. She stumbled backward into the shallow pool and stepped beneath the pounding waterfall. For a moment she thought it might crush her, but when she opened her eyes, she was standing in a bathtub underneath a showerhead.

Turning off the water, she stepped out of the tub and onto the fluffy yellow rug.

It was her own bathroom, in her own home back in Georgia.

She left the bathroom and stepped out into the upstairs hallway. This place was probably in ruins now, in the real world, that is.

But this wasn't that world.

This was something entirely different.

Buttery sunshine spilled in through the window at the end of the corridor, and she walked towards it slowly. There were those same golden fields outside that she'd walked through at the start of the dream, glittering in the sun. She placed her palms on the glass of the window and then her forehead. It was cool against her skin and she sighed.

She could stay here forever if she wanted.

If that was her choice, she would never have to go back to that horrible world again.

"Wake up."

She turned.

There was no one there.

But she had recognised that voice, just like she had recognised the others. The only difference here was this one didn't belong.

It was Rick Grimes's voice.

 _Wake up._

"You're the one who didn't believe," she tried to drive him away, "You wouldn't let me take the chance, and maybe you were right because look at me now. I'm a ghost haunting my own head . . . I don't know how to come back."

"You do."

Her heart stopped.

Her daddy was standing halfway up the stairs, eyes fixed on her. She did stumble when she saw him—two legs and clean shaven—and felt her pulse quicken.

"You do, Beth," he said, tone firm. "You've just forgotten. Remember it. Remember what you learned."

She trembled, "I don't know what to do."

He flashed a quick smile before retreating back down the stairs. Afraid of losing him too, she hurried after him and out of the front door.

He stood on the porch, staring out at the golden fields, and she walked to join him. She saw her mom and Patricia out there, tending to one of the horses, and their hair almost blended in perfectly with the shimmering stalks of wheat. Her mom looked away from the horse for a moment and towards the house, and gave Beth one of her warmest smiles.

She felt like her heart was being compressed by a vice.

"I always liked that dress you're wearing," her dad said, and she gave him a bitter laugh.

They stood there for what could have been an eternity. She would have wanted nothing more, but he continued to probe at her mind.

"Why are you here, Bethy?"

". . . I did something stupid."

He chuckled, "That doesn't sound like you."

"I've changed a lot since you last saw me."

"I know, but you were always so careful. Maggie used to tease you for being so strictly organised. She called you OCD, do you remember?"

"Yeah, I remember."

"What did you do?"

"It doesn't matter. It's done now."

"Do you regret it?"

Her brows creased and she frowned at him.

"What?"

"Do you regret what you did? You said it was stupid, but do you regret doing it? Would you take it back if you could?"

There were a lot of things she would take back if she could.

". . . No," she said, "Not this one. I knew what I was doing, and I'd do it again to see if things would go differently."

"Then it wasn't stupid."

Her frown deepened and he chuckled again.

"Look at that scowl. You're your mother's daughter, that's for certain."

"Why wasn't it stupid?"

He stopped chortling and smiled gently.

God, she missed him.

She tried not to think about it, but she missed him all the time.

"Because," he said, "It rarely matters what the outcome of a situation is. If your intentions were good, then that's what matters. If you try to do the right thing, you did the right thing. Trying is the point."

She gave him a half smile and shook her head, watching the golden grass sway in the wind.

"I used to believe that too," she said, "I tried to do everything right, but it still ended up backfiring in the end. I still ended up _dead_."

"You're not dead."

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"This is no more than a fanciful dream, sweetheart. This is your painting of an afterlife. It's a fairytale you've created to run away to."

"I'm not running away."

"But you are, aren't you? You want to stay here instead of going back. You can't do that. You have to go back. You have to face it instead of trying to flee. You _have_ to win."

" _Why_?"

He turned to face her and gently took her by the shoulders. His eyes were blue like the sky beyond the porch, and she wanted to fly away into them. What he said next seemed to echo into her mind into a world far away from this one, and she almost choked on her own lungs.

"Because you're strong."

 _You're not strong enough._

"You said it yourself. You're strong. And a strong person can look death straight in the eye, and tell it to go to hell."

She laughed.

His smile widened. "What?"

"You never said things like that to me. Probably trying to be a good influence, so I'd turn out okay."

"You turned out better than okay."

Tears stung in her eyes and he cupped her cheeks. His palms were worn but soft, exactly as she remembered, and she bit her tongue harshly. "You're already everything you want to be," he said, "You just have to stop being afraid and fight. Fight for that future you can see. Make Rick believe in it like he used to."

" _How_?"

"Don't ask me. You made Daryl believe."

 _Get up._

He pressed his forehead against hers and she closed her eyes. She felt warm, so warm. She knew she wouldn't feel this warm if she ever woke up. But she needed to fight. She needed to prove she was _capable_ of fighting. Edwards and the others knew she could, but Rick and his group didn't. They hadn't seen her fighting her way from Atlanta.

They still couldn't see her.

She needed to make them see.

"We miss you," she whispered, "Maggie and me . . . We miss you. Every second of every day."

"I know."

"I won't forget. I promise. I won't forget what you showed me . . . I understand. I understand what you said before you . . ."

 _It could work, you know it could._

 _It could work._

He pulled away and she opened her eyes. Holding her hands in his large ones, his smile made her heart break and mend all at once.

"I knew you would."

Smiling at him one last time, she pulled her hands out of his and walked down the porch steps. The grass was warm beneath her feet and a wind blew through her hair, filling her with confidence. She strode across the field, stealing a couple of glances back at the house until her daddy was gone from the doorway.

It didn't fill her with as much fear as she'd thought it would.

She made her way over to where her mama and Patricia were tending to the horse, and stopped to meet their gazes. They smiled at her, and her mom offered her the reigns. She smiled back at them and took hold of them, but before she climbed onto the horse's back, she turned her head towards Patricia and her smile turned sadder.

"I'm sorry," she told her. "I didn't want to let go."

Patrica's smile grew and she planted a warm hand on her shoulder.

"I know."

And with those two words, the weight was lifted from her heart. She climbed up onto the horse and took a breath. Her mom's hand steadied her and she smiled up at her, her hair bright and gold like the grass around them. She didn't say anything, but she didn't have to. She gave Beth's leg one final squeeze before patting the horse's side and setting it off into a trot. Beth looked back over her shoulder at the golden fields of wheat and the farmhouse, before turning back to the front and urging the horse into a run.

A bird soared high in the sky and she followed it.

Like a star, it showed her the way.

The way where?

The way home.

A giant chasm came up on the horizon and the bird flew straight over it. She readied to jump, lowering her body against the horse, then they leaped across the gap and into the air. In the air, she tilted her head back and saw a little girl and a woman sitting in the grass on the side she'd just jumped from. The girl's hair was short and blonde, and her shirt was blue like a summer sky. She held a ragdoll tight to her chest. The woman sitting next to her had long brown hair and a smile like the sun, and Beth remembered their faces as they smiled at her.

 _We can make now all right._

The dream was over before the horse's hooves could touch the other side.

.

.

 _"Through my blindness,_  
 _You took the weight and opened up my eyes."_ — Found, **Trenton**

 **.**

 **.**


End file.
